BATTLE-PIECES 


AND 


ASPECTS  OF  THE  WAR. 


HERMAN    MELVILLE. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 
1866. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  sixty-six,  by 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 

In  the   Clerk's  Office  of  the   District  Court  of  the   Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


THE  BATTLE-PIECES 

m  THIS  VOLUME  ARE  DEDICATED 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE 

THREE     HUNDRED     THOUSAND 

WHO  IN  THE  WAR 
FOR  THE   MAINTENANCE   OF  THE   UNION 

FELL  DEVOTEDLY 
UNDER  THE  FLAG  OF  THEIR  FATHERS. 


[WITH  few  exceptions,  the  Pieces  in  this  volume  originated  in  an  impulse 
imparted  by  the  fall  of  Richmond.  They  were  composed  without  reference  to 
collective  arrangement,  but,  being  brought  together  in  review,  naturally  fall  into 
the  order  assumed. 

The  events  and  incidents  of  the  conflict  —  making  up  a  whole,  in  varied  am 
plitude,  corresponding  with  the  geographical  area  covered  by  the  war  —  from 
these  but  a  few  themes  have  been  taken,  such  as  for  any  cause  chanced  to  im 
print  themselves  upon  the  mind. 

The  aspects  which  the  strife  as  a  memory  assumes  are  as  manifold  as  are  the 
moods  of  involuntary  meditation — moods  variable,  and  at  times  widely  at  vari 
ance.  Yielding  instinctively,  one  after  another,  to  feelings  not  inspired  from 
any  one  source  exclusively,  and  unmindful,  without  purposing  to  be,  of  consist 
ency,  I  seem,  in  most  of  these  verses,  to  have  but  placed  a  harp  in  a  window, 
and  noted  the  contrasted  airs  which  wayward  winds  have  played  upon  the 
strings.] 


CON  T  E  NTS. 


Misgivings 13 

The  Conflict  of  Convictions 14 

Apathy  and  Enthusiasm 19 

The  March  into  Virginia 22 

Lyon 24 

BalFs  Bluff 28 

Duponfs  Round  Fight 30 

The  Stone  Fleet 31 

Donelson 33 

The  Cumberland -53 

In  the  Turret 55 

The  Temeraire 58 

A  utilitarian  View  of  the  Monitors  Fight  61 

Shiloh 63 

The  Battle  for  the  Mississippi    ....  64 

Malvern  Hill 67 

The  Victor  of  Antietam 69 

Battle  of  Stone  River 73 

Running  the  Batteries 75 


viii  Contents. 

PAGE 

Stonewall  Jackson 79 

Stonewall  Jackson  (ascribed  to  a  Virginiari)  8 1 

Gettysburg 84 

The  Hoiise-top 86 

Look-out  Mountain 88 

Chattanooga 90 

The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness  .     .     .     .  93 

On  the  Photograph  of  a  Corps  Commander  105 

The  Swamp  Angel 107 

The  Battle  for  the  Bay no 

Sheridan  at  Cedar  Creek 1 1 6 

In  the  Prison  Pen 1 1 8 

The  College  Colonel 120 

The  Eagle  of  the  Blue 122 

A  Dirge  for  Me  P her  son 124 

At  the  Cannons  Mouth 126 

The  March  to  the  Sea 128 

The  Frenzy  in  the  Wake 133 

The  Fall  of  Richmond 135 

The  Surrender  at  Appomattox  .     .     .     .137 

A  Canticle 138 

The  Martyr 141 

"The  Coming  Storm"" 143 

Rebel  Color-bearers  at  Shiloh      .     .     .     .144 


Contents.  ix 


PAGE 


The  Muster 146 

Aurora  Borealis 148 

The  released  Rebel  Prisoner 150 

A  Grave  near  Petersburg,  Virginia    .     .153 

"Formerly  a  Slav^ 154 

The  Apparition 155 

Magnanimity  Baffled 156 

On  the  Slain  Collegians 157 

America 160 

VERSES  INSCRIPTIVE  AND  MEMORIAL. 

On  the  Home  Guards  who  perished  in  the 
Defense  of  Lexington,  Missouri  .  .  .165 

Inscription  for  Graves  at  Pea  Ridge, 
Arkansas 166 

The  Fortitude  of  the  North  under  the 
Disaster  of  the  Second 'Manassas  .  .167 

On  the  Men  of  Maine  killed  in  the  Vic 
tory  of  Baton  Rouge,  Louisiana.  .  .168 

An  Epitaph 169 

Inscription  for  Maryds  Heights,  Freder- 
icksburg 170 

The  Mound  by  the  Lake 171 

On  the  Slain  at  Chickamauga  .     .     .     .172 


x  Contents. 

PAGE 

An  uninscribed  Monument  on  one  of  the 
Battle-fields  of  the  Wilderness.  .  .  .173 

On  Sherman! s  Men  who  fell  in  the  Assault 
of  Kenesaw  Mountain,  Georgia  .  .  .174 

On  the  Grave  of  a  young  Cavalry  Officer 
killed  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia  .  .  .175 

A  Requiem  for  Soldiers  lost  in  Ocean 

Transports 176 

On  a  natural  Monument  in  a  Field  of 
Georgia 178 

Commemorative  of  a  Naval  Victory     .     .180 

Presentation  to  the  Authorities  by  Privates 
of  Colors  captured  in  Battles  ending  in 
the  Surrender  of  Lee 182 

The  returned  Volunteer  to  his  Rifle.     .     .183 

THE  SCOUT  TOWARD  ALDIE 187 

Lee  in  the  Capitol 217 

A  Meditation 239 

NOTES 245 

SUPPLEMENT 259 


The  Portent. 
(1859-) 


Hanging  from  the  beam, 

Slowly  swaying  (such  the  law). 
Gaunt  the  shadow  on  your  green, 

Shenandoah  ! 
The  cut  is  on  the  crown 
(Lo,  John  Brown), 
And  the  stabs  shall  heal  no  more. 


Hidden  in  the  cap 

Is  the  anguish  none  can  draw ; 
So  your  future  veils  its  face, 

Shenandoah  ! 

But  the  streaming  beard  is  shown 
(Weird  John  Brown), 
The  meteor  of  the  war. 


Misgivings. 
(1860.) 


WHEN  ocean-clouds  over  inland  hills 

Sweep  storming  in  late  autumn  brown, 
And  horror  the  sodden  valley  fills, 

And  the  spire  falls  crashing  in  the  town, 
I  muse  upon  my  country's  ills — 
The  tempest  bursting  from  the  waste  of  Time 
On  the  world's  fairest  hope  linked  with  man's  foulest 
crime. 

Nature's  dark  side  is  heeded  now — 

(Ah !  optimist-cheer  disheartened  flown) — 
A  child  may  read  the  moody  brow 

Of  yon  black  mountain  lone. 
With  shouts  the  torrents  down  the  gorges  go, 
And  storms  are  formed  behind  the  storm  we  feel : 
The  hemlock  shakes  in  the  rafter,  the  oak  in  the  driv 
ing  keel. 


The  Conflict  of  Convictions? 
(1860-1.) 


ON  starry  heights 

A  bugle  wails  the  long  recall ; 
Derision  stirs  the  deep  abyss, 

Heaven's  ominous  silence  over  all. 
Return,  return,  O  eager  Hope, 

And  face  man's  latter  fall. 
Events,  they  make  the  dreamers  quail ; 
Satan's  old  age  is  strong  and  hale, 
A  disciplined  captain,  gray  in  skill, 
And  Raphael  a  white  enthusiast  still ; 
Dashed  aims,  at  which  Christ's  martyrs  pale, 
Shall  Mammon's  slaves  fulfill  ? 

(Dismantle  the  fort, 

Cut  down  the  fleet — 

Battle  no  more  shall  be  f 

While  the  fields  for  fight  in  ceons  to  come 

Congeal  beneath  the  sea.) 


The  Conflict  of  Convictions.  1 5 

The  terrors  of  truth  and  dart  of  death 

To  faith  alike  are  vain ; 
Though  comets,  gone  a  thousand  years, 

Return  again, 

Patient  she  stands — she  can  no  more — 
And  waits,  nor  heeds  she  waxes  hoar. 

(At  a  stony  gate, 
A  statue  of  stone. 
Weed  overgrown — 
Long  'twill  wait !) 


But  God  his  former  mind  retains, 

Confirms  his  old  decree ; 
The  generations  are  inured  to  pains, 

And  strong  Necessity 
Surges,  and  heaps  Time's  strand  with  wrecks. 

The  People  spread  like  a  weedy  grass, 

The  thing  they  will  they  bring  to  pass, 
And  prosper  to  the  apoplex. 
The  rout  it  herds  around  the  heart, 

The  ghost  is  yielded  in  the  gloom ; 
Kings  wag  their  heads — Now  save  thyself 

Who  wouldst  rebuild  the  world  in  bloom. 


1 6  The  Conflict  of  Convictions. 

(Tide-mark 

And  top  of  the  ages'  strife, 

Verge  where  they  called  the  world  to  come, 

The  last  advance  of  life — 

Ha  ha,  the  rust  on  the  Iron  Dome !) 


Nay,  but  revere  the  hid  event ; 

In  the  cloud  a  sword  is  girded  on, 
I  mark  a  twinkling  in  the  tent 

Of  Michael  the  warrior  one. 
Senior  wisdom  suits  not  now, 
The  light  is  on  the  youthful  brow. 

(Ay,  in  caves  the  miner  see: 
His  forehead  bears  a  blinking  light , 
Darkness  so  he  feebly  braves — 
A  meagre  wight !) 


But  He  who  rules  is  old — is  old ; 

Ah !  faith  is  warm,  but  heaven  with  age  is  cold. 

(Ho  ho,  ho  ho, 
The  cloistered  doubt 
Of  olden  times 
Is  blurted  out!) 


The  Conflict  of  Convictions.  17 

The  Ancient  of  Days  forever  is  young, 
Forever  the  scheme  of  Nature  thrives ; 

I  know  a  wind  in  purpose  strong — 
It  spins  against  the  way  it  drives. 

What  if  the  gulfs  their  slimed  foundations  bare  ? 

So  deep  must  the  stones  be  hurled 

Whereon  the  throes  of  ages  rear 

The  final  empire  and  the  happier  world. 

(The  poor  old  Past, 

The  Future's  slave, 

She  drudged  through  pain  and  crime 

To  bring  about  the  blissful  Prime, 

Then— perished.     There's  a  grave!) 


Power  unanointed  may  come — 
Dominion  (unsought  by  the  free) 

And  the  Iron  Dome, 
Stronger  for  stress  and  strain, 
Fling  her  huge  shadow  athwart  the  main ; 
But  the  Founders'  dream  shall  flee. 
Age  after  age  shall  be 
As  age  after  age  has  been, 
(From  man's  changeless  heart  their  way  they  win) ; 


1 8  The  Conflict  of  Convictions. 

And  death  be  busy  with  all  who  strive — 
Death,  with  silent  negative. 

YEA  AND  NAY — 

EACH    HATH    HIS   SAYj 

BUT  GOD  HE  KEEPS  THE  MIDDLE  WAY. 
NONE  WAS  BY 

WHEN  HE  SPREAD  THE  SKY; 
WISDOM  is  VAIN,  AND  PROPHESY. 


Apathy  and  Enthusiasm. 
(1860-1.) 


I. 

O  THE  clammy  cold  November, 

And  the  winter  white  and  dead, 
And  the  terror  dumb  with  stupor, 

And  the  sky  a  sheet  of  lead ; 
And  events  that  came  resounding 

With  the  cry  that  All  was  lost, 
Like  the  thunder-cracks  of  massy  ice 

In  intensity  of  frost — 
Bursting  one  upon  another 

Through  the  horror  of  the  calm. 

The  paralysis  of  arm 
In  the  anguish  of  the  heart ; 
And  the  hollowness  and  dearth. 

The  appealings  of  the  mother 

To  brother  and  to  brother 
Not  in  hatred  so  to  part — 
And  the  fissure  in  the  hearth 


2O  Apathy  and  Enthusiasm. 

Growing  momently  more  wide. 
Then  the  glances  'tween  the  Fates, 

And  the  doubt  on  every  side, 
And  the  patience  under  gloom 
In  the  stoniness  that  waits 
The  finality  of  doom. 

II. 

So  the  winter  died  despairing, 

And  the  weary  weeks  of  Lent ; 
And  the  ice-bound  rivers  melted, 

And  the  tomb  of  Faith  was  rent. 
O,  the  rising  of  the  People 

Came  with  springing  of  the  grass, 
They  rebounded  from  dejection 

After  Easter  came  to  pass. 
And  the  young  were  all  elation 

Hearing  Sumter's  cannon  roar, 
And  they  thought  how  tame  the  Nation 

In  the  age  that  went  before. 
And  Michael  seemed  gigantical, 

The  Arch-fiend  but  a  dwarf; 
And  at  the  towers  of  Erebus 

Our  striplings  flung  the  scoff. 
But  the  elders  with  foreboding 

Mourned  the  days  forever  o'er, 


Apathy  and  Enthusiasm.  21 

And  recalled  the  forest  proverb, 

The  Iroquois'  old  saw : 
Grief  to  every  graybeard 

When  young  Indians  lead  the  war. 


The  March   into   Virginia, 

Ending  in  the  First  Manassas. 

(JULY,  1861.) 


Dm  all  the  lets  and  bars  appear 

To  every  just  or  larger  end, 
Whence  should  come  the  trust  and  cheer? 

Youth  must  its  ignorant  impulse  lend — 
Age  finds  place  in  the  rear. 

All  wars  are  boyish,  and  are  fought  by  boys, 
The  champions  and  enthusiasts  of  the  state : 

Turbid  ardors  and  vain  joys 
Not  barrenly  abate — 

Stimulants  to  the  power  mature, 
Preparatives  of  fate. 

Who  here  forecasteth  the  event? 
What  heart  but  spurns  at  precedent 
And  warnings  of  the  wise, 
Contemned  foreclosures  of  surprise? 


The  March  into  Virginia.  23 

The  banners  play,  the  bugles  call, 
The  air  is  blue  and  prodigal. 

No  berrying  party,  pleasure-wooed, 
No  picnic  party  in  the  May, 
Ever  went  less  loth  than  they 

Into  that  leafy  neighborhood. 
In  Bacchic  glee  they  file  toward  Fate, 
Moloch's  uninitiate; 
Expectancy,  and  glad  surmise 
Of  battle's  unknown  mysteries. 
All  they  feel  is  this :  'tis  glory, 
A  rapture  sharp,  though  transitory, 
Yet  lasting  in  belaureled  story. 
So  they  gayly  go  to  fight, 
Chatting  left  and  laughing  right. 

But  some  who  this  blithe  mood  present, 

As  on  in  lightsome  files  they  fare, 
Shall  die  experienced  ere  three  days  are  spent — 

Perish,  enlightened  by  the  vollied  glare ; 
Or  shame  survive,  and,  like  to  adamant, 

The  throe  of  Second  Manassas  share. 


Lyon. 

Battle  of  Springfield,  Missouri. 
(AUGUST,  1 86 1.) 


SOME  hearts  there  are  of  deeper  sort, 

Prophetic,  sad, 
Which  yet  for  cause  are  trebly  clad ; 

Known  death  they  fly  on  : 
This  wizard-heart  and  heart-of-oak  had  Lyon. 


"They  are  more  than  twenty  thousand  strong, 

We  less  than  five, 
Too  few  with  such  a  host  to  strive." 

"  Such  counsel,  fie  on  ! 
'Tis  battle,  or  'tis  shame;"  and  firm  stood  Lyon. 


"  For  help  at  need  in  vain  we  wait — 

Retreat  or  fight : 
Retreat  the  foe  would  take  for  flight, 

•And  each  proud  scion 
Feel  more  elate ;  the  end  must  come,"  said  Lyon. 


Lyon.  25 

V 

By  candlelight  he  wrote  the  will, 

And  left  his  all 
To  Her  for  whom  'twas  not  enough  to  fall; 

Loud  neighed  Orion 
Without  the  tent;  drums  beat;  we  marched  with  Lyon. 


The  night-tramp  done,  we  spied  the  Vale 

With  guard-fires  lit; 
Day  broke,  but  trooping  clouds  made  gloom  of  it : 

"A  field  to  die  on," 
Presaged  in  his  unfaltering  heart,  brave  Lyon. 


We  fought  on  the  grass,  we  bled  in  the  corn — 

Fate  seemed  malign; 
His  horse  the  Leader  led  along  the  line — 

Star-browed  Orion ; 
Bitterly  fearless,  he  rallied  us  there,  brave  Lyon. 


There  came  a  sound  like  the  slitting  of  air 

By  a  swift  sharp  sword — 
A  rush  of  the  sound ;  and  the  sleek  chest  broad 

Of  black  Orion 

Heaved,  and  was  fixed ;  the  dead  mane  waved  toward  Lyon. 

B 


26  Lyon. 

"  General,  you're  hurt — this  sleet  of  balls  !" 

He  seemed  half  spent ; 
With  moody  and  bloody  brow,  he  lowly  bent : 

"  The  field  to  die  on  ; 
But  not — not  yet ;  the  day  is  long,"  breathed  Lyon. 


For  a  time  becharmed  there  fell  a  lull 

In  the  heart  of  the  fight  j 
The  tree-tops  nod,  the  slain  sleep  light ; 

Warm  noon-winds  sigh  on, 
And  thoughts  which  he  never  spake  had  Lyon. 


Texans  and  Indians  trim  for  a  charge : 

"  Stand  ready,  men  ! 
Let  them  come  close,  right  up,  and  then 

After  the  lead,  the  iron ; 
Fire,  and  charge  back !"     So  strength  returned  to  Lyon. 


The  Iowa  men  who  held  the  van, 

Half  drilled,  were  new 
To  battle  :  "  Some  one  lead  us,  then  we'll  do," 

-  Said  Corporal  Tryon  : 
"  Men !  /  will  lead,"  and  a  light  glared  in  Lyon. 


Lyon.  27 

On  they  came  :  they  yelped,  and  fired ; 

His  spirit  sped ; 
We  leveled  right  in,  and  the  half-breeds  fled, 

Nor  stayed  the  iron, 
Nor  captured  the  crimson  corse  of  Lyon. 


This  seer  foresaw  his  soldier-doom, 

Yet  willed  the  fight. 
He  never  turned ;  his  only  flight 

Was  up  to  Zion, 
Where  prophets  now  and  armies  greet  brave  Lyon. 


Ball's  Bluff. 

A  Reverie. 
(OCTOBER,  1861.) 


ONE  noonday,  at  my  window  in  the  town, 
I  saw  a  sight — saddest  that  eyes  can  see — 
Young  soldiers  marching  lustily 

Unto  the  wars, 

With,  fifes,  and  flags  in  mottoed  pageantry ; 
While  all  the  porches,  walks,  and  doors 
Were  rich  with  ladies  cheering  royally. 


They  moved  like  Juny  morning  on  the  wave, 
Their  hearts  were  fresh  as  clover  in  its  prime 
(It  was  the  breezy  summer  time), 
Life  throbbed  so  strong, 
How  should  they  dream  that  Death  in  a  rosy  clime 

Would  come  to  thin  their  shining  throng? 
Youth  feels  immortal,  like  the  gods  sublime. 


BaWs  Bluff.  29 

Weeks  passed ;  and  at  my  window,  leaving  bed, 
By  night  I  mused,  of  easeful  sleep  bereft, 
On  those  brave  boys  (Ah  War  !  thy  theft) ; 

Some  marching  feet 
Found  pause  at  last  by  cliffs  Potomac  cleft; 

Wakeful  I  mused,  while  in  the  street 
Far  footfalls  died  away  till  none  were  left. 


Dnponfs  Round  Fight. 
(NOVEMBER,  1861.) 


IN  time  and  measure  perfect  moves 
All  Art  whose  aim  is  sure ; 

Evolving  rhyme  and  stars  divine 
Have  rules,  and  they  endure. 


Nor  less  the  Fleet  that  warred  for  Right, 

And,  warring  so,  prevailed, 
In  geometric  beauty  curved, 

And  in  an  orbit  sailed. 


The  rebel  at  Port  Royal  felt 

The  Unity  overawe, 
And  rued  the  spell.     A  type  was  here, 

And  victory  of  LAW. 


The  Stone  Fleet* 

An  Old  Sailor's  Lament. 

(DECEMBER,  1861.) 


I  HAVE  a  feeling  for  those  ships, 

Each  worn  and  ancient  one, 
With  great  bluff  bows,  and  broad  in  the  beam  : 
Ay,  it  was  unkindly  done. 

But  so  they  serve  the  Obsolete — 
Even  so,  Stone  Fleet ! 

You'll  say  I'm  doting;  do  but  think 

I  scudded  round  the  Horn  in  one — 
The  Tenedos,  a  glorious 

Good  old  craft  as  ever  run — 

Sunk  (how  all  unmeet!) 
With  the  Old  Stone  Fleet. 

An  India  ship  of  fame  was  she, 

Spices  and  shawls  and  fans  she  bore ; 


32  The  Stone  Fleet. 

A  whaler  when  her  wrinkles  came — 
Turned  off!  till,  spent  and  poor, 

Her  bones  were  sold  (escheat) ! 
Ah!  Stone  Fleet. 

Four  were  erst  patrician  keels 

(Names  attest  what  families  be), 
The  Kensington,  and  Richmond  too, 
Leonidas,  and  Lee : 

But  now  they  have  their  seat 
With  the  Old  Stone  Fleet. 

To  scuttle  them — a  pirate  deed- 
Sack  them,  and  dismast; 
They  sunk  so  slow,  they  died  so  hard, 
But  gurgling  dropped  at  last. 

Their  ghosts  in  gales  repeat 
Wofs  us,  Stone  Fleet ! 

And  all  for  naught.     The  waters  pass- 
Currents  will  have  their  way; 
Nature  is  nobody's  ally ;  'tis  well ; 
The  harbor  is  bettered — will  stay. 

A  failure,  and  complete, 
Was  your  Old  Stone  Fleet. 


Donelson. 
(FEBRUARY,  1862. 


THE  bitter  cup 

Of  that  hard  countermand 
Which  gave  the  Envoys  up, 
Still  was  wormwood  in  the  mouth, 

And  clouds  involved  the  land, 
When,  pelted  by  sleet  in  the  icy  street, 

About  the  bulletin-board  a  band 
Of  eager,  anxious  people  met, 
And  every  wakeful  heart  was  set 
On  latest  .news  from  West  or  South. 
"No  seeing  here,"  cries  one — "don't  crowd" 
"You  tall  man,  pray  you,  read  aloud." 

IMPORTANT. 

We  learn  that  General  Grant, 
Marching  from  Henry  overland. 
And  joined  by  a  force  up  the  Cumberland  sent 
(Some  thirty  thousand  the  command), 

B2 


34  Donelson. 

x 

On  Wednesday  a  good  position  won — 
Began  the  siege  of  Donelson. 

This  stronghold  crowns  a  river-bluff, 

A  good  broad  mile  of  leveled  top ; 
Inland  the  ground  rolls  off 

Deep-gorged,  and  rocky,  and  broken  up — 
A  wilderness  of  trees  and  brush. 

The  spaded  summit  shows  the  roods 
Of  fixed  intrenchments  in  their  hush; 

Breast-works  and  rifle-pits  in  woods 
Perplex  the  base. — 

The  welcome  weather 

Is  clear  and  mild;  'tis  much  like  May. 
TJie  ancient  boughs  that  lace  together 
Along  the  stream,  and  hang  far  forth, 

Strange  with  green  mistletoe,  betray 
A  dreamy  contrast  to  the  North. 

Our  troops  are  full  of  spirits — say 

The  siege  won't  prove  a  creeping  one. 
They  purpose  not  the  lingering  stay 
Of  old  beleaguerers ;  not  that  way ; 
But,  full  of  vim  from  Western  prairies  won, 
They'll  make,  ere  long,  a  dash  at  Donelson. 


Donelson.  35 

Washed  by  the  storm  till  the  paper  grew 

Every  shade  of  a  streaky  blue, 

That  bulletin  stood.     The  next  day  brought 

A  second. 

« 

LATER  FROM  THE  FORT. 
Grant's  investment  is  complete — 

A  semicircular  one. 

Both  wings  the  Cumberland's  margin  meet. 
Then,  backward  curving,  clasp  the  rebel  seat. 

On  Wednesday  this  good  work  was  done; 

But  of  the  doers  some  lie  prone. 
Each  wood,  each  hill,  each  glen  was  fought  for ; 
The  bold  inclosing  line  we  wrought  for 
Flamed  with  sharpshooters.     Each  cliff  cost 
A  limb  or  life.     But  back  we  forced 
Reserves  and  all;  made  good  our  hold; 
And  so  we  rest. 

Events  unfold. 
On  Thursday  added  ground  was  won, 

A  long  bold  steep :  we  near  the  Den. 
Later  the  foe  came  shouting  down 

In  sortie,  which  was  quelled;  and  then 
We  stormed  them  on  their  left. 
A  chilly  change  in  the  afternoon; 


3  6  Done  Is  on. 


The  sky,  late  dear,  is  now  bereft 

Of  sun.     Last  night  the  ground  froze  hard — 

Rings  to  the  enemy  as  they  run 

Within  their  works.     A  ramrod  bites 

The  lip  it  meets.     The  cold  incites 

To  swinging  of  arms  with  brisk  rebound. 

Smart  blows  'gainst  lusty  chests  resound. 

Along  the  outer  line  we  ward 

A  crackle  of  skirmishing  goes  on. 
Our  lads  creep  round  on  hand  and  knee. 

They  fight  from  behi?id  each  trunk  and  stone, 

And  sometimes,  flying  for  refuge,  one 
Finds  'tis  an  enemy  shares  the  tree. 
Some  scores  are  maimed  by  boughs  shot  off 

In  the  glades  by  the  Forfs  big  gun. 

We  mourn  the  loss  of  Colonel  Morrison, 

Killed  while  cheering  his  regiment  on. 
Their  far  sharpshooters  try  our  stuff; 
And  ours  return  them  puff  for  puff: 
'Tts  diamond-cutting-diamond  work. 

Woe  on  the  rebel  cannoneer 
Who  shows  his  head.     Our  fellows  lurk 

Like  Indians  that  waylay  the  deer 
By  the  wild  salt-spring.— The  sky  is  du?i, 
Foredooming  the  fall  of  Donelson. 


Donelson.  37 

Stern  weather  is  all  unwonted  here. 

The  people  of  the  country  own 
We  brought  it.      Yea,  the  earnest  North 
Has  elementally  issued  forth 

To  storm  this  Donelson. 

FURTHER. 

A  yelling  rout 
Of  ragamuffins  broke  profuse 

To-day  from  out  the  Fort. 

Sole  uniform  they  wore,  a  sort 
Of  patch,  or  white  badge  (as  you  choose) 

Upon  the  arm.     But  leading  these, 
Or  mingling,  were  men  of  face 
And  bearing  of  patrician  race, 
Splendid  in  courage  and  gold  lace — 

The  officers.     Before  the  breeze 
Made  by  their  charge,  down  went  our  line; 
But,  rallying,  charged  back  in  force, 
And  broke  the  sally ;  yet  with  loss. 
This  on  the  left ;  upon  the  right 
Meanwhile  there  was  an  answering  fight ; 

Assailants  and  assailed  reversed. 
The  charge  too  upward,  and  not  down — 
Up  a  steep  ridge-side,  toward  its  crown, 

A  strong  redoubt.     But  they  who  first 


38  Done  Is  on. 

Gained  the  for fs  base,  and  marked  the  trees 
Felled,  heaped  in  horned  perplexities, 

And  shagged  with  brush;  and  swarming  there 
Fierce  wasps  whose  sting  was  present  death — 
They  faltered,  drawing  bated  breath, 

And  felt  it  was  in  vain  to  dare; 
Yet  still,  perforce,  returned  the  ball, 
Firing  into  the  tangled  wall 
Till  ordered  to  come  down.     They  came ; 
But  left  some  comrades  in  their  fame, 
Red  on  the  ridge  in  icy  wreath 
And  hanging  gardens  of  cold  Death. 

But  not  quite  unavenged  these  fell; 
Our  ranks  once  out  of  range,  a  blast 

Of  shrapnel  and  quick  shell 
Burst  on  the  rebel  horde,  still  massed, 

Scattering  them  pell-mell. 

(This  fighting— judging  what  we  read — 
Both  charge  and  countercharge, 
Would  seem  but  Thursday's  told  at  large, 
Before  in  brief  reported. — Ed.) 
Night  closed  in  about  the  Den 

Murky  and  lowering.     Ere  long,  chill  rains. 
A  night  not  soon  to  be  forgot, 

Reviving  old  rheumatic  pains 
And  longings  for  a  cot. 


Done  Is  on.  39 

No  blankets,  overcoats,  or  tents. 
Coats  thrown  aside  on  the  warm  march  here — 
We  looked  not  then  for  changeful  cheer; 
Tents,  coats,  and  blankets  too  much  care. 

No  fires  ;  a  fire  a  mark  presents  ; 

Near  by,  the  trees  show  bullet-dents. 
Rations  were  eaten  cold  and  raw. 

The  men  well  soaked,  came  snow ;  and  more — 
A  midnight  sally.     Small  sleeping  done — 

But  such  is  war ; 
No  matter,  we'll  have  Fort  Donelson. 


"Ugh!  ugh! 

'Twill  drag  along — drag  along," 
Growled  a  cross  patriot  in  the  throng, 
His  battered  umbrella  like  an  ambulance-cover 
Riddled  with  bullet-holes,  spattered  all  over. 
"  Hurrah  for  Grant !"  cried  a  stripling  shrill ; 
Three  urchins  joined  him  with  a  will, 
And  some  of  taller  stature  cheered. 
Meantime  a  Copperhead  passed;  he  sneered. 

"Win  or  lose,"  he  pausing  said, 
"  Caps  fly  the  same ;  all  boys,  mere  boys ; 
Any  thing  to  make  a  noise. 

Like  to  see  the  list  of  the  dead ; 


4O  Donelson. 

These  ' craven  Southerners'  hold  out; 
Ay,  ay,  they'll  give  you  many  a  bout." 

"We'll  beat  in  the  end,  sir," 
Firmly  said  one  in  staid  rebuke, 
A  solid  merchant,  square  and  stout. 

"And  do  you  think  it?  that  way  tend,  sir?" 
Asked  the  lean  Copperhead,  with  a  look 
Of  splenetic  pity.     "  Yes,  I  do." 
His  yellow  death's  head  the  croaker  shook : 
"  The  country's  ruined,  that  I  know." 
A  shower  of  broken  ice  and  snow, 

In  lieu  of  words,  confuted  him ; 
They  saw  him  hustled  round  the  corner  go, 

And  each  by-stander  said — Well  suited  him. 

Next  day  another  crowd  was  seen 
In  the  dark  weather's  sleety  spleen. 
Bald-headed  to  the  storm  came  out 
A  man,  who,  'mid  a  joyous  shout, 
Silently  posted  this  brief  sheet : 

GLORIOUS  VICTORY  OF  THE  FLEET! 

FRIDAY'S  GREAT  EVENT! 

THE  ENEMY'S  WATER-BATTERIES  BEAT! 


Donelson.  4 1 

WE   SILENCED   EVERY   GUN  ! 

• 

THE  OLD  COMMODORE'S  COMPLIMENTS  SENT 
PLUMP  INTO  DONELSON! 


"  Well,  well,  go  on !"  exclaimed  the  crowd 
To  him  who  thus  much  read  aloud. 
"That's  all,"  he  said.     "What!  nothing  more?" 
"  Enough  for  a  cheer,  though — hip,  hurrah ! 
"But  here's  old  Baldy  come  again — 
"More  news!" — And  now  a  different  strain. 


(Our  own  reporter  a  dispatch  compiles ', 
As  best  he  may ',  from  varied  sources.) 

Large  re-enforcements  have  arrived — 

Munitions,  men,  and  horses — 
For  Grant,  and  all  debarked,  with  stores. 

The  enemy's  field-works  extend  six  miles- 
The  gate  still  hid;  so  well  contrived. 

Yesterday  stung  us ;  frozen  shores 

Snow-clad,  and  through  the  drear  defiles 


42  Donelson. 

And  over  the  desolate  ridges  blew 
A.  Lapland  wind. 

The  main  affair 

Was  a  good  two  hours'  steady  fight 
Between  our  gun-boats  and  the  Fort. 

The  Louisville's  wheel  was  smashed  outright. 
A  hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound  ball 
Came  planet-like  through  a  starboard  port, 
Killing  three  men,  and  wounding  all 
The  rest  of  that  gurfs  crew, 
(The  captain  of  the  gun  was  cut  in  two) ; 
Then  splintering  and  ripping  went — 
Nothing  could  be  its  continent. 

In  the  narrow  stream  the  Louisville, 
Unhelmed,  grew  lawless ;  swung  around, 

And  would  have  thumped  and  drifted^  till 
All  the  fleet  was  driven  aground, 
But  for  the  timely  order  to  retire. 

Some  damage  from  our  fire,  'tis  thougJit, 
Was  done  the  water-batteries  of  the  Fort. 

Little  else  took  place  that  day, 

Except  the  field  artillery  in  faie 
Would  now  and  then— for  love,  they  say — 
Exchange  a  valentine. 


Done  Is  on.  43 

The  old  sharps/looting  going  on. 
Some  plan  afoot  as  yet  unknown ; 
So  Friday  closed  round  Donelson. 

LATER. 

Great  suffering  through  the  night — 
A  stinging  one.     Our  heedless  boys 

Were  nipped  like  blossoms.     Some  dozen 

Hapless  wounded  men  were  frozen. 
During  day  being  struck  down  out  of  sight, 
And  help-cries  drowned  in  roaring  noise, 
They  were  left  just  where  the  skirmish  shifted — 
Left  in  dense  underbrush  snow-drifted. 
Some,  seeking  to  crawl  in  crippled  plight, 
So  stiffened— perished. 

Yet  in  spite 

Of  pangs  for  these,  no  heart  is  lost. 
Hungry,  and  clothing  stiff  with  frost, 
Our  men  declare  a  nearing  sun 
Shall  see  the  fall  of  Donelson. 

And  this  they  say,  yet  not  disown 
The  dark  redoubts  round  Donelson, 

And  ice-glazed  corpses,  each  a  stone — 

A  sacrifice  to  Donelson; 
They  swear  it,  and  swerve  not,  gazing  on 
A  flag,  deemed  black,  flying  from  Donelson. 


44  Donelson. 

Some  of  the  wounded  in  the  wood 
Were  cared  for  by  the  foe  last  night. 

Though  he  could  do  them  little  needed  good, 
Himself  being  all  in  shivering  plight. 

The  rebel  is  wrong,  but  human  yet; 

H£s  got  a  heart,  and  thrusts  a  bayonet. 

He  gives  us  battle  with  wondrous  will — 

This  bluff's  a  perverted  Bunker  Hill 

The  stillness  stealing  through  the  throng 
The  silent  thought  and  dismal  fear  revealed ; 

They  turned  and  went, 
Musing  on  right  and  wrong 
And  mysteries  dimly  sealed — 
Breasting  the  storm  in  daring  discontent; 
The  storm,  whose  black  flag  showed  in  heaven, 
As  if  to  say  no  quarter  there  was  given 

To  wounded  men  in  wood, 
Or  true  hearts  yearning  for  the  good — 
All  fatherless  seemed  the  human  soul. 
But  next  day  brought  a  bitterer  bowl — 
On  the  bulletin-board  this  stood : 

Saturday  morning  at  3  A.M. 

A  stir  within  the  Fort  betrayed 
That  the  rebels  were  getting  under  arms ; 

Some  plot  these  early  birds  had  laid. 


Donelson.  45 

But  a  lancing  sleet  cut  him  who  stared 
Into  the  storm.     After  some  vague  alarms. 
Which  left  our  lads  unscared, 
Out  sallied  the  enemy  at  dim  of  dawn, 

With  cavalry  and  artillery,  and  went 

In  fury  at  our  environment. 
Under  cover  of  shot  and  shell 

Three  columns  of  infantry  rolled  on, 

Vomited  out  of  Donelson — 
Rolled  down  the  slopes  like  rivers  of  hell, 

Surged  at  our  line,  and  swelled  and  poured 
Like  breaking  surf.     But  unsubmerged 

Our  men  stood  up,  except  where  roared 
The  enemy  through  one  gap.     We  urged 
Our  all  of  manhood  to  the  stress, 
But  still  showed  shattered  in  our  desperateness. 

Back  set  the  tide, 
But  soon  afresh  rolled  in; 

And  so  it  swayed  from  side  to  side — 
Far  batteries  joining  in  the  din, 
Though  sharing  in  another  fray — 

Till  all  became  an  Indian  fight, 
Intricate,  dusky,  stretching  far  away, 
Yet  not  without  spontaneous  plan 

However  tangled  showed  the  plight : 
Duels  all  over  "'tween  man  and  man, 


46  Donelson. 

Duels  on  cliff-side,  and  down  in  ravine, 

Duels  at  long  range,  and  bone  to  bone ; 
Duels  every  where  flitting  and  half  unseen. 

Only  by  courage  good  as  their  own, 
And  strength  outlasting  theirs, 

Did  our  boys  at  last  drive  the  rebels  off. 
Yet  they  went  not  back  to  their  distant  lairs 

In  strong-hold,  but  loud  in  scoff 
Maintained  themselves  on  conquered  ground — 
Uplands ;  built  works,  or  stalked  around. 
Our  right  wing  bore  this  onset.     Noon 
Brought  calm  to  Donelson. 

The  reader  ceased;  the  storm  beat  hard; 

'Twas  day,  but  the  office-gas  was  lit ; 

Nature  retained  her  sulking-fit, 

In  her  hand  the  shard. 
Flitting  faces  took  the  hue 
Of  that  washed  bulletin-board  in  view, 
And  seemed  to  bear  the  public  grief 
As  private,  and  uncertain  of  relief; 
Yea,  many  an  earnest  heart  was  won, 

As  broodingly  he  plodded  on, 
To  find  in  himself  some  bitter  thing, 
Some  hardness  in  his  lot  as  harrowing 
As  Donelson. 


Donelson.  47 

That  night  the  board  stood  barren  there, 
Oft  eyed  by  wistful  people  passing, 
Who  nothing  saw  but  the  rain-beads  chasing 

Each  other  down  the  wafered  square, 

As  down  some  storm-beat  grave-yard  stone. 

But  next  day  showed — 

MORE  NEWS  LAST  NIGHT. 
STORY  OF  SATURDAY  AFTERNOON. 
VICISSITUDES  OF  THE  WAR. 

The  damaged  gun-boats  carft  wage  fight 
For  days ;  so  says  the  Commodore. 
Tims  no  diversion  can  be  had. 
Under  a  sunless  sky  of  lead 

Our  grim-faced  boys  in  blackened  plight 
Gaze  toward  the  ground  they  held  before, 
And  then  on  Grant.     He  marks  their  mood. 
And  hails  it,  and  will  turn  the  same  to  good. 
Spite  all  that  they  have  undergone, 
Their  desperate  hearts  are  set  upon 
This  winter  fort,  this  stubborn  fort, 
This  castle  of  the  last  resort, 
This  Donelson. 


48  Donelson. 

i  P.M. 

An  order  given 
Requires  withdrawal  from  the  front 

Of  regiments  that  bore  the  brunt 
Of  mornings  fray.     Their  ranks  all  riven 
Are  being  replaced  by  fresh,  strong  men. 
Great  vigilance  in  the  foemarfs  Den; 
He  snuffs  the  stormers.     Need  it  is 
That  for  that  fell  assault  of  his, 
That  rout  inflicted,  and  self-scorn — 
Immoderate  in  noble  natures,  torn 
By  sense  of  being  through  slackness  overborne — 
The  rebel  be  given  a  quick  return  : 
The  kindest  face  looks  now  half  stern. 
Balked  of  their  prey  in  airs  that  freeze, 
Some  fierce  ones  glare  like  savages. 
And  yet,  and  yet,  strange  moments  are — 
Well — blood,  and  tears,  and  anguished  War! 
The  mornings  battle-ground  is  seen 

In  lifted  glades,  like  meadows  rare; 

The  blood-drops  on  the  snow-crust  there 
Like  clover  in  the  white-weed  show — 

Flushed  fields  of  death,  that  call  again — 

Call  to  our  men,  and  not  in  vain, 
For  that  way  must  the  stormers  go. 


Donelson.  49 

3>JK 


begins. 
Light  drifts  of  men  thrown  forward,  fade 

In  skirmish-line  along  the  slope, 
Where  some  dislodgments  must  be  made 

Ere  the  stormer  with  the  strong-hold  cope. 

Lew  Wallace,  moving  to  retake 
The  heights  late  lost— 

(Herewith  a  break. 

Storms  at  the  West  derange  the  wires. 
Doubtless,  ere  morning,  we  shall  hear 
The  end;  we  look  for  news  to  cheer  — 

Let  Hope  fan  all  her  fires.) 


Next  day  in  large  bold  hand  was  seen 
The  closing  bulletin  : 

VICTORY ! 

Our  troops  have  retrieved  the  day 
By  one  grand  surge  along  the  line; 
The  spirit  that  urged  them  was  divine. 

The  first  works  fiooded,  naught  could  stay 
The  stormers :  on  !  still  on  ! 
Bayonets  for  Donelson  ! 
C 


50  Donelson. 

Over  the  ground  that  morning  lost 
Rolled  the  blue  billows,  tempest-tossed. 

Following  a  hat  on  the  point  of  a  sword. 
Spite  shell  and  round-shot,  grape  and  canister, 
Up  they  climbed  without  rail  or  banister — 

Up  the  steep  hill-sides  long  and  broad, 
Driving  the  rebel  deep  within  his  works. 
^Tis  nightfall;  not  an  enemy  lurks 

In  sight.     The  chafing  men 
Fret  for  more  fight : 

"  To-night,  to-night  let  us  take  the  Den  /" 
But  night  is  treacherous,  Grant  is  wary ; 
Of  brave  blood  be  a  little  chary. 
Patience!  the  Fort  is  good  as  won; 
To-morrow,  and  into  Donelson. 

LATER  AND  LAST. 

THE  FORT  is  OURS. 

A  fiag  came  out  at  early  morn 
Bringing  surrender.     From  their  towers 

Floats  out  the  banner  late  their  scorn. 
In  Dover,  hut  and  house  are  full 

Of  rebels  dead  or  dying. 

The  National  fiag  is  fiying 
From  the  crammed  court-house  pinnacle. 


Donelson.  5 1 

Great  boat-loads  of  our  wounded  go 
To-day  to  Nashville.     The  sleet-winds  blow ; 
But  all  is  right:  the  fight  is  won, 
The  winter-fight  for  Donelson. 

Hurrah  ! 
The  spell  of  old  defeat  is  broke, 

The  habit  of  victory  begun ; 
Grant  strikes  the  war's  first  sounding  stroke 

At  Donelson. 

For  lists  of  killed  and  wounded,  see 

The  morrow's  dispatch:  to-day  'tis  victory. 


The  man  who  read  this  to  the  crowd 

Shouted  as  the  end  he  gained; 

And  though  the  unflagging  tempest  rained, 

They  answered  him  aloud. 
And  hand  grasped  hand,  and  glances  met 
In  happy  triumph;  eyes  grew  wet. 
O,  to  the  punches  brewed  that  night 
Went  little  water.     Windows  bright 
Beamed  rosy  on  the  sleet  without, 
And  from  the  deep  street  came  the  frequent  shout 
While  some  in  prayer,  as  these  in  glee, 
Blessed  heaven  for  the  winter-victory. 


5  2  Donelson. 

But  others  were  who  wakeful  laid 
In  midnight  beds,  and  early  rose, 
And,  feverish  in  the  foggy  snows, 

Snatched  the  damp  paper — wife  and  maid. 
The  death-list  like  a  river  flows 
Down  the  pale  sheet, 

And  there  the  whelming  waters  meet. 


Ah  God !  may  Time  with  happy  haste 
Bring  wail  and  triumph  to  a  waste, 

And  war  be  done  • 
The  battle  flag-staff  fall  athwart 
The  curs'd  ravine,  and  wither;  naught 

Be  left  of  trench  or  gun ; 
The  bastion,  let  it  ebb  away, 
Washed  with  the  river  bed ;  and  Day 

In  vain  seek  Donelson. 


The  Cumberland. 
(MARCH,  1862.) 


SOME  names  there  are  of  telling  sound, 

Whose  voweled  syllables  free 
Are  pledge  that  they  shall  ever  live  renowned ; 

Such  seems  to  be 
A  Frigate's  name  (by  present  glory  spanned) — 

The  Cumberland. 

Sounding  name  as  ere  was  sung, 
Flowing,  rolling  on  the  tongue — 
Cumberland !  Cumberland ! 


She  warred  and  sunk.     There's  no  denying 

That  she  was  ended — quelled; 
And  yet  her  flag  above  her  fate  is  flying, 

As  when  it  swelled 
Unswallowed  by  the  swallowing  sea :  so  grand- 

The  Cumberland. 


54  The  Cumberland. 


Goodly  name  as  ere  was  sung, 
Roundly  rolling  on  the  tongue- 
Cumberland  !  Cumberland ! 


What  need  to  tell  how  she  was  fought — 

The  sinking  flaming  gun — 
The  gunner  leaping  out  the  port — 

Washed  back,  undone ! 
Her  dead  unconquerably  manned 

The  Cumberland. 

Noble  name  as  ere  was  sung, 
Slowly  roll  it  on  the  tongue — 
Cumberland !  Cumberland ! 


Long  as  hearts  shall  share  the  flame 
Which  burned  in  that  brave  crew, 

Her  fame  shall  live — outlive  the  victor's  name ; 
For  this  is  due. 

Your  flag  and  flag-staff  shall  in  story  stand- 
Cumberland  ! 

Sounding  name  as  ere  was  sung, 
Long  they'll  roll  it  on  the  tongue- 
Cumberland  !  Cumberland ! 


In  the  Turret. 
(MARCH,  1862.) 


YOUR  honest  heart  of  duty,  Worden, 

So  helped  you  that  in  fame  you  dwell ; 
You  bore  the  first  iron  battle's  burden 

Sealed  as  in  a  diving-bell. 
Alcides,  groping  into  haunted  hell 
To  bring  forth  King  Admetus'  bride, 
Braved  naught  more  vaguely  direful  and  untried. 

What  poet  shall  uplift  his  charm, 
Bold  Sailor,  to  your  height  of  daring, 

And  interblend  therewith  the  calm, 
And  build  a  goodly  style  upon  your  bearing. 


Escaped  the  gale  of  outer  ocean — 
Cribbed  in  a  craft  which  like  a  log 

Was  washed  by  every  billow's  motion — 
By  night  you  heard  of  Og 

The  huge ;  nor  felt  your  courage  clog 


56  In  the  Turret. 

At  tokens  of  his  onset  grim : 

You  marked  the  sunk  ship's  flag-staff  slim, 

Lit  by  her  burning  sister's  heart; 
You  marked,  and  mused :  "  Day  brings  the  trial : 

Then  be  it  proved  if  I  have  part 
With  men  whose  manhood  never  took  denial." 


A  prayer  went  up — a  champion's.     Morning 

Beheld  you  in  the  Turret  walled 
By  -adamant,  where  a  spirit  forewarning 

And  all-deriding  called : 
"  Man,  darest  thou — desperate,  unappalled — 
Be  first  to  lock  thee  in  the  armored  tower? 
I  have  thee  now;  and  what  the  battle-hour 

To  me  shall  bring — heed  well — thou'lt  share; 
This  plot-work,  planned  to  be  the  foeman's  terror, 

To  thee  may  prove  a  goblin-snare ; 
Its  very  strength  and  cunning — monstrous  error!" 


"  Stand  up,  my  heart ;  be  strong ;  what  matter 
If  here  thou  seest  thy  welded  tomb  ? 

And  let  huge  Og  with  thunders  batter — 
Duty  be  still  my  doom, 

Though  drowning  come  in  liquid  gloom ; 


In  the  Turret.  57 

First  duty,  duty  next,  and  duty  last; 
Ay,  Turret,  rivet  me  here  to  duty  fast !" — • 

So  nerved,  you  fought,  wisely  and  well  -} 
And  live,  twice  live  in  life  and  story ; 

But  over  your  Monitor  dirges  swell, 
In  wind  and  wave  that  keep  the  rites  of  glory. 

C  2 


The  Temeraire? 

(Supposed  to  have  been  suggested  to  an  Englishman  of  the  old 
order  by  the  fight  of  the  Monitor  and  Merrimac.) 


THE  gloomy  hulls,  in  armor  grim, 
Like  clouds  o'er  moors  have  met, 

And  prove  that  oak,  and  iron,  and  man 
Are  tough  in  fibre  yet. 


But  Splendors  wane.     The  sea-fight  yields 

No  front  of  old  display ; 
The  garniture,  emblazonment, 

And  heraldry  all  decay. 


Towering  afar  in  parting  light, 

The  fleets  like  Albion's  forelands  shine — 
The  full-sailed  fleets,  the  shrouded  show 

Of  Ships-of-the-Line. 


The  Temeraire.  59 

The  fighting  Temeraire, 

Built  of  a  thousand  trees, 
Lunging  out  her  lightnings, 

And  beetling  o'er  the  seas — 
O  Ship,  how  brave  and  fair, 

That  fought  so  oft  and  well, 
On  open  decks  you  manned  the  gun 

Armorial. d 
What  cheerings  did  you  share, 

Impulsive  in  the  van, 
When  down  upon  leagued  France  and  Spain 

We  English  ran — 
The  freshet  at  your  bowsprit 

Like  the  foam  upon  the  can. 
Bickering,  your  colors 

Licked  up  the  Spanish  air, 
You  flapped  with  flames  of  battle-flags — 

Your  challenge,  Temeraire ! 
The  rear  ones  of  our  fleet 

They  yearned  to  share  your  place, 
Still  vying  with  the  Victory 

Throughout  that  earnest  race — 
The  Victory,  whose  Admiral, 

With  orders  nobly  won, 
Shone   in   the   globe  of  the  battle  glow— 

The  angel  in  that  sun. 


60  The  Temeraire. 

Parallel  in  story, 

Lo,  the  stately  pair, 
As  late  in  grapple  ranging, 

The  foe  between  them  there — 
When  four  great  hulls  lay  tiered, 
And  the  fiery  tempest  cleared, 
And  your  prizes  twain  appeared, 
Temeraire ! 

But  Trafalgar'  is  over  now, 

The  quarter-deck  undone; 
The  carved  and  castled  navies  fire 

Their  evening-gun. 
O,  Titan  Temeraire, 

Your  stern-lights  fade  away; 
Your  bulwarks  to  the  years  must  yield, 

And  heart-of-oak  decay. 
A  pigmy  steam-tug  tows  you, 

Gigantic,  to  the  shore — 
Dismantled  of  your  guns  and  spars, 

And  sweeping  wings  of  war. 
The  rivets  clinch  the  iron-clads, 

Men  learn  a  deadlier  lore; 
But  Fame  has  nailed  your  battle-flags — 

Your  ghost  it  sails  before : 
O,  the  navies  old  and  oaken, 

O,  the  Temeraire  no  more ! 


A  Utilitarian  View  of  the  Monitors  Fight. 


PLAIN  be  the  phrase,  yet  apt  the  verse, 

More  ponderous  than  nimble ; 
For  since  grimed  War  here  laid  aside 
His  Orient  pomp,  'twould  ill  befit 

Overmuch  to  ply 
The  rhyme's  barbaric  cymbal. 


Hail  to  victory  without  the  gaud 

Of  glory ;  zeal  that  needs  no  fans 
Of  banners ;  plain  mechanic  power 
Plied  cogently  in  War  now  placed — 

Where  War  belongs — 
Among  the  trades  and  artisans. 


Yet  this  was  battle,  and  intense — 

Beyond  the  strife  of  fleets  heroic  ; 
Deadlier,  closer,  calm  'mid  storm ; 


62  The  Monitor's  Fight. 

No  passion ;  all  went  on  by  crank, 

Pivot,  and  screw, 
And  calculations  of  caloric. 


Needless  to  dwell;  the  story's  known. 

The  ringing  of  those  plates  on  plates 
Still  ringeth  round  the  world — 
The  clangor  of  that  blacksmiths'  fray. 
The  anvil-din 

Resounds  this  message  from  the  Fates : 


War  shall  yet  be,  and  to  the  end; 

But  war-paint  shows  the  streaks  of  weather ; 
War  yet  shall  be,  but  warriors 
Are  now  but  operatives ;  War's  made 
Less  grand  than  Peace, 

And  a  singe  runs  through  lace  and  feather. 


Shiloh. 

A  Requiem. 

(APRIL,  1862.) 

SKIMMING  lightly,  wheeling  still, 

The  swallows  fly  low 
Over  the  field  in  clouded  days, 

The  forest-field  of  Shiloh — 
Over  the  field  where  April  rain 
Solaced  the  parched  ones  stretched  in  pain 
Through  the  pause  of  night 
That  followed  the  Sunday  fight 

Around  the  church  of  Shiloh — 
The  church  so  lone,  the  log-built  one, 
That  echoed  to  many  a  parting  groan 
And  natural  prayer 

Of  dying  foemen  mingled  there — 
Foemen  at  morn,  but  friends  at  eve — 

Fame  or  country  least  their  care  : 
(What  like  a  bullet  can  undeceive!) 

But  now  they  lie  low, 
While  over  them  the  swallows  skim, 

And  all  is  hushed  at  Shiloh. 


The  Battle  for  the  Mississippi. 
(APRIL,  1862.) 


WHEN  Israel  camped  by  Migdol  hoar, 
Down  at  her  feet  her  shawm  she  threw, 

But  Moses  sung  and  timbrels  rung 
For  Pharaoh's  stranded  crew. 

So  God  appears  in  apt  events — 
The  "Lord  is  a  man  of  war ! 

So  the  strong  wing  to  the  muse  is  given 
In  victory's-  roar. 


Deep  be  the  ode  that  hymns  the  fleet — 

The  fight  by  night— the  fray 
Which  bore  our  Flag  against  the  powerful  stream, 

And  led  it  up  to  day. 
Dully  through  din  of  larger  strife 

Shall  bay  that  warring  gun; 
But  none  the  less  to  us  who  live 

It  peals — an  echoing  one. 


The  Battle  for  the  Mississippi.          65 

The  shock  of  ships,  the  jar  of  walls, 

The  rush  through  thick  and  thin — 
The  flaring  fire-rafts,  glare  and  gloom — 

Eddies,  and  shells  that  spin — 
The  boom-chain  burst,  the  hulks  dislodged, 

The  jam  of  gun-boats  driven, 
Or  fired,  or  sunk — made  up  a  war 

Like  Michael's  waged  with  leven. 


The  manned  Varuna  stemmed  and  quelled 

The  odds  which  hard  beset; 
The  oaken  flag-ship,  half  ablaze, 

Passed  on  and  thundered  yet; 
While  foundering,  gloomed  in  grimy  flame, 

The  Ram  Manassas — hark  the  yell ! — 
Plunged,  and  was  gone;  in  joy  or  fright, 

The  River  gave  a  startled  swell. 


They  fought  through  lurid  dark  till  dawn; 

The  war-smoke  rolled  away 
With  clouds  of  night,  and  showed  the  fleet 

In  scarred  yet  firm  array, 
Above  the  forts,  above  the  clrift 

Of  wrecks  which  strife  had  made ; 


66          The  Battle  for  the  Mississippi. 

And  Farragut  sailed  up  to  the  town 
And  anchored — sheathed  the  blade. 


The  moody  broadsides,  brooding  deep, 

Hold  the  lewd  mob  at  bay, 
While  o'er  the  armed  decks'  solemn  aisles 

The  meek  church-pennons  play ; 
By  shotted  guns  the  sailors  stand, 

With  foreheads  bound  or  bare ; 
The  captains  and  the  conquering  crews 

Humble  their  pride  in  prayer. 


They  pray ;  and  after  victory,  prayer 

Is  meet  for  men  who  mourn  their  slain ; 
The  living  shall  unmoor  and  sail, 

But  Death's  dark  anchor  secret  deeps  detain. 
Yet  Glory  slants  her  shaft  of  rays 

Far  through  the  undisturbed  abyss; 
There  must  be  other,  nobler  worlds  for  them 

Who  nobly  yield  their  lives  in  this. 


Malvern  Hill. 
(JULY,  1862.) 


YE  elms  that  wave  on  Malvern  Hill 
In  prime  of  morn  and  May, 

Recall  ye  how  McClellan's  men 
Here  stood  at  bay? 

While  deep  within  yon  forest  dim 
Our  rigid  comrades  lay — 

Some  with  the  cartridge  in  their  mouth, 

Others  with  fixed  arms  lifted  South — 
Invoking  so 

The  cypress  glades  ?     Ah  wilds  of  woe  ! 


The  spires  of  Richmond,  late  beheld 
Through  rifts  in  musket-haze, 

Were  closed  from  view  in  clouds  of  dust 
On  leaf-walled  ways, 

Where  streamed  our  wagons  in  caravan ; 
And  the  Seven  Nights  and  Days 


68  Malvern  Hill. 

Of  march  and  fast,  retreat  and  fight, 
Pinched  our  grimed  faces  to  ghastly  plight — 

Does  the  elm  wood 
Recall  the  haggard  beards  of  blood  ? 


The  battle-smoked  flag,  with  stars  eclipsed, 

We  followed  (it  never  fell  !)— 
In  silence  husbanded  our  strength — 

Received  their  yell; 
Till  on  this  slope  we  patient  turned 

With  cannon  ordered  well ; 
Reverse  we  proved  was  not  defeat; 
But  ah,  the  sod  what  thousands  meet ! — 

Does  Malvern  Wood 
Bethink  itself,  and  muse  and  brood  ? 

We  elms  of  Malvern  Hill 

Remember  every  thing; 
But  sap  the  twig  will  fill: 
Wag  the  world  how  it  will, 
Leaves  must  be  green  in  Spring. 


The  Victor  of  Antietam? 
(1862.) 


WHEN  tempest  winnowed  grain  from  bran, 
And  men  were  looking  for  a  man, 
Authority  called  you  to  the  van, 

McClellan : 

Along  the  line  the  plaudit  ran, 
As  later  when  Antietam's  cheers  began. 


Through  storm-cloud  and  eclipse  must  move 
Each  Cause  and  Man,  dear  to  the  stars  and  Jove 
Nor  always  can  the  wisest  tell 
Deferred  fulfillment  from  the  hopeless  knell — 
The  struggler  from  the  floundering  ne'er-do-well. 
A  pall-cloth  on  the  Seven  Days  fell, 

McClellan— 

Unprosperously  heroical ! 
Who  could  Antietam's  wreath  foretell  ? 


70  The  Victor  of  Antietam. 

Authority  called  you ;  then,  in  mist 

And  loom  of  jeopardy — dismissed. 

But  staring  peril  soon  appalled ; 

You,  the  Discarded,  she  recalled — 

Recalled  you,  nor  endured  delay ; 

And  forth  you  rode  upon  a  blasted  way, 

Arrayed  Pope's  rout,  and  routed  Lee's  array, 

McClellan : 
Your  tent  was  choked  with  captured  flags  that  day, 

McClellan. 
Antietam  was  a  telling  fray. 


Recalled  you;  and  she  heard  your  drum 
Advancing  through  the  ghastly  gloom. 
You  manned  the  wall,  you  propped  the  Dome, 
You  stormed  the  powerful  stormer  home, 

McClellan : 
Antietam's  cannon  long  shall  boom.    , 


At  Alexandria,  left  alone, 

McClellan— 

Your  veterans  sent  from  you,  and  thrown 
To  fields  and  fortunes  all  unknown — 
What  thoughts  were  yours,  revealed  to  none, 


The  Victor  of  Antietam.  71 

While  faithful  still  you  labored  on — 
Hearing  the  far  Manassas  gun ! 

McClellan, 
Only  Antietam  could  atone. 


You  fought  in  the  front  (an  evil  day, 

McClellan)— 

The  fore-front  of  the  first  assay ; 
The  Cause  went  sounding,  groped  its  way ; 
The  leadsmen  quarrelled  in  the  bay; 
Quills  thwarted  swords ;  divided  sway ; 
The  rebel  flushed  in  his  lusty  May : 
You  did  your  best,  as  in  you  lay, 

McClellan. 
Antietam's  sun-burst  sheds  a  ray. 


Your  medalled  soldiers  love  you  well, 

McClellan : 

Name  your  name,  their  true  hearts  swell ; 
With  you  they  shook  dread  StonewalPs  spell/ 
With  you  they  braved  the  blended  yell 
Of  rebel  and  maligner  fell ; 
With  you  in  shame  or  fame  they  dwell, 

McClellan : 
Antietam-braves  a  brave  can  tell. 


72  The  Victor  of  Antietam. 

And  when  your  comrades  (now  so  few, 

McClellan — 

Such  ravage  in  deep  files  they  rue) 
Meet  round  the  board,  and  sadly  view 
The  empty  places ;  tribute  due 
They  render  to  the  dead — and  you! 
Absent  and  silent  o'er  the  blue ; 
The  one-armed  lift  the  wine  to  you, 

McClellan, 
And  great  Antietam's  cheers  renew. 


Battle  of  Stone  River,  Tennessee. 

A  View  from  Oxford  Cloisters. 

(JANUARY,  1863.) 


WITH  Tewksbury  and  Barnet  heath 

In  days  to  come  the  field  shall  blend, 
The  story  dim  and  date  obscure; 

In  legend  all  shall  end. 
Even  now,  involved  in  forest  shade 

A  Druid-dream  the  strife  appears, 
The  fray  of  yesterday  assumes 

The  haziness  of  years. 

In  North  and  South  still  beats  the  vein 
Of  Yorkist  and  Lancastrian. 

Our  rival  Roses  warred  for  Sway — 

For  Sway,  but  named  the  name  of  Right; 

And  Passion,  scorning  pain  and  death, 
Lent  sacred  fervor  to  the  fight. 

Each  lifted  up  a  broidered  cross, 

While  crossing  blades  profaned  the  sign ; 
D 


74  Battle  of  Stone  River. 

Monks  blessed  the  fratricidal  lance, 
And  sisters  scarfs  could  twine. 

Do  North  and  South  the  sin  retain 
Of  Yorkist  and  Lancastrian  ? 

But  Rosecrans  in  the  cedarn  glade, 

And,  deep  in  denser  cypress  gloom, 
Dark  Breckinridge,  shall  fade  away 

Or  thinly  loom. 
The  pale  throngs  who  in  forest  cowed 

Before  the  spell  of  battle's  pause, 
Forefelt  the  stillness  that  shall  dwell 
On  them  and  on  their  wars. 

North  and  South  shall  join  the  train 
Of  Yorkist  and  Lancastrian. 

But  where  the  sword  has  plunged  so  deep, 
And  then  been  turned  within  the  wound 
By  deadly  Hate ;  where  Climes  contend 

On  vasty  ground — 
No  warning  Alps  or  seas  between, 

And  small  the  curb  of  creed  or  law, 
And  blood  is  quick,  and  quick  the  brain; 
Shall  North  and  South  their  rage  deplore, 
And  reunited  thrive  amain 
Like  Yorkist  and  Lancastrian? 


Running  the  Batteries, 

As  observed  from  the  Anchorage  above  Vicksburgh. 

(APRIL,  1863.) 


A  MOONLESS  night — a  friendly  one; 

A  haze  dimmed  the  shadowy  shore 
As  the  first  lampless  boat  slid  silent  on; 

Hist !  and  we  spake  no  more ; 
We  but  pointed,  and  stilly,  to  what  we  saw. 


We  felt  the  dew,  and  seemed  to  feel 

The  secret  like  a  burden  laid. 
The  first  boat  melts;  and  a  second  keel 

Is  blent  with  the  foliaged  shade — 
Their  midnight  rounds  have  the  rebel  officers  made? 


Unspied  as  yet.     A  third — a  fourth — 
Gun-boat  and  transport  in  Indian  file 

Upon  the  war-path,  smooth  from  the  North; 
But    the   watch   may  they  hope    to    beguile? 

The  manned  river-batteries  stretch  for  mile  on  mile. 


76  Running  the  Batteries. 

A  flame  leaps  out;  they  are  seen; 
Another  and  another  gun  roars; 
We  tell  the  course  of  the  boats  through  the  screen 
.  By  each  further  fort  that  pours, 

And  we  guess  how  they  jump  from  their  beds  on  those 
shrouded  shores. 


Converging  fires.  We  speak,  though  low : 
"That  blastful  furnace  can  they  thread?" 

"Why,  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abed-nego 
Came  out  all  right,  we  read; 

The  Lord,  be  sure,  he  helps  his  people,  Ned." 


How  we  strain  our  gaze.     On  bluffs  they  shun 

A  golden  growing  flame  appears — 
Confirms  to  a  silvery  steadfast  one : 

"The  town  is  afire!"  crows  Hugh:  "three  cheers!" 
Lot  stops  his  mouth :  "  Nay,  lad,  better  three  tears." 


A  purposed  light;  it  shows  our  fleet; 

Yet  a  little  late  in  its  searching  ray, 
So  far  and  strong,  that  in  phantom  cheat 

Lank  on  the  deck  our  shadows  lay ; 
The  shining  flag-ship  stings  their  guns  to  furious  play. 


Running  the  Batteries.  77 

How  dread  to  mark  her  near  the  glare 

And  glade  of  death  the  beacon  throws 
Athwart  the  racing  waters  there ; 
•     One  by  one  each  plainer  grows, 
Then  speeds  a  blazoned  target  to  our  gladdened  foes. 


The  impartial  cresset  lights  as  well 
The  fixed  forts  to  the  boats  that  run ; 

And,  plunged  from  the  ports,  their  answers  swell 
Back  to  each  fortress  dun  : 

Ponderous  words  speaks  every  monster  gun. 


Fearless  they  flash  through  gates  of  flame, 

The  salamanders  hard  to  hit, 
Though  vivid  shows  each  bulky  frame; 

And  never  the  batteries  intermit, 
Nor  the  boats  huge  guns;  they  fire  and  flit. 


Anon  a  lull.      The  beacon  dies  : 

"  Are  they  out  of  that  strait  accurst  ?" 

But  other  flames  now  dawning  rise, 
Not  mellowly  brilliant  like  the  first, 

But  rolled  in  smoke,  whose  whitish  volumes  burst. 


78  Running  the  Batteries. 

A  baleful  brand,  a  hurrying  torch 
Whereby  anew  the  boats  are  seen — 

A  burning  transport  all  alurch! 

Breathless  we  gaze ;  yet  still  we  glean 

Glimpses  of  beauty  as  we  eager  lean. 


The  effulgence  takes  an  amber  glow 
Which  bathes  the  hill-side  villas  far; 

Affrighted  ladies  mark  the  show 
Painting  the  pale  magnolia — 

The  fair,  false,  Circe  light  of  cruel  War. 


The  barge  drifts  doomed,  a  plague-struck  one. 

Shoreward  in  yawls  the  sailors  fly. 
But  the  gauntlet  now  is  nearly  run, 

The  spleenful  forts  by  fits  reply, 
And  the  burning  boat  dies  down  in  morning's  sky. 


All  out  of  range.     Adieu,  Messieurs ! 

Jeers,  as  it  speeds,  our  parting  gun. 
So  burst  we  through  their  barriers 

And  menaces  every  one : 
So  Porter  proves  himself  a  brave  man's  son.g 


Stonewall  Jackson. 

Mortally  wounded  at  Chancellor sville^ 
(MAY,  1863.) 


THE  Man  who  fiercest  charged  in  fight, 
Whose  sword  and  prayer  were  long — 

Stonewall ! 
Even  him  who  stoutly  stood  for  Wrong, 

How  can  we  praise?     Yet  coming  days 
Shall  not  forget  him  with  this  song. 


Dead  is  the  Man  whose  Cause  is  dead, 
Vainly  he  died  and  set  his  seal — 

Stonewall ! 
Earnest  in  error,  as  we  feel ; 

True  to  the  thing  he  deemed  was  due, 
True  as  John  Brown  or  steel. 


8o  Stonewall  Jackson. 

Relentlessly  he  routed  us; 

But  we  relent,  for  he  is  low — 
Stonewall ! 

Justly  his  fame  we  outlaw;  so 
We  drop  a  tear  on  the  bold  Virginian's  bier, 

Because  no  wreath  we  owe. 


Stonewall  Jackson. 
(Ascribed  to  a  Virginian.) 


ONE  man  we  claim  of  wrought  renown 

Which  not  the  North  shall  care  to  slur; 
A  Modern  lived  who  sleeps  in  death, 
Calm  as  the  marble  Ancients  are : 

'Tis  he  whose  life,  though  a  vapor's  wreath, 
Was  charged  with  the  lightning's  burning  breath- 
Stonewall,  stormer  of  the  war. 

But  who  shall  hymn  the  Roman  heart? 

A  stoic  he,  but  even  more  ; 
The  iron  will  and  lion  thew 

Were  strong  to  inflict  as  to  endure : 

Who  like  him  could  stand,  or  pursue? 
His  fate  the  fatalist  followed  through; 
In  all  his  great  soul  found  to  do 
Stonewall  followed  his  star. 


82  Stonewall  Jackson. 

He  followed  his  star  on  the  Romney  march 

Through  the  sleet  to  the  wintry  war; 
And  he  followed  it  on  when  he  bowed  the  grain — 
The  Wind  of  the  Shenandoah ; 

At  Gaines's  Mill  in  the  giants'  strain — 
On  the  fierce  forced  stride  to  Manassas-plain, 
Where  his  sword  with  thunder  was  clothed  again, 
Stonewall  followed  his  star. 

His  star  he  followed  athwart  the  flood 

To  Potomac's  Northern  shore, 
When  midway  wading,  his  host  of  braves 
"My  Maryland!"  loud  did  roar — 

To  red  Antietam's  field  of  graves, 
Through  mountain-passes,  woods  and  waves, 
They  followed  their  pagod  with  hymns  and  glaives, 
For  Stonewall  followed  a  star. 

Back  it  led  him  to  Marye's  slope, 

Where  the  shock  and  the  fame  he  bore; 
And  to  green  Moss-Neck  it  guided  him — 
Brief  respite  from  throes  of  war  : 

To  the  laurel  glade  by  the  Wilderness  grim, 
Through  climaxed  victory  naught  shall  dim, 
Even  unto  death  it  piloted  him — 
Stonewall  followed  his  star. 


Stonewall  Jackson.  83 

Its  lead  he  followed  in  gentle  ways 

Which  never  the  valiant  mar; 
A  cap  we  sent  him,  bestarred,  to  replace 
The  sun-scorched  helm  of  war : 

A  fillet  he  made  of  the  shining  lace 
Childhood's  laughing  brow  to  grace — 
Not  his  was  a  goldsmith's  star. 

O,  much  of  doubt  in  after  days 

Shall  cling,  as  now,  to  the  war; 
Of  the  right  and  the  wrong  they'll  still  debate, 
Puzzled  by  Stonewall's  star: 

"Fortune  went  with  the  North  elate," 
"  Ay,  but  the  South  had  Stonewall's  weight, 
And  he  fell  in  the  South's  vain  war." 


Gettysburg. 

The  Check. 
(JULY,  1863.) 


O  PRIDE  of  the  days  in  prime  of  the  months 

Now  trebled  in  great  renown, 
When  before  the  ark  of  our  holy  cause 

Fell  Dagon  down — 

Dagon  foredoomed,  who,  armed  and  targed, 
Never  his  impious  heart  enlarged 
Beyond  that  hour;  God  walled  his  power, 
And  there  the  last  invader  charged. 


He  charged,  and  in  that  charge  condensed 

His  all  of  hate  and  all  of  fire ; 
He  sought  to  blast  us  in  his  scorn, 

And  wither  us  in  his  ire. 
Before  him  went  the  shriek  of  shells — 
Aerial  screamings,  taunts  and  yells ; 
Then  the  three  waves  in  flashed  advance 


Gettysburg.  85 

Surged,  but  were  met,  and  back  they  set : 
Pride  was  repelled  by  sterner  pride, 
And  Right  is  a  strong-hold  yet. 


Before  our  lines  it  seemed  a  beach 

Which  wild  September  gales  have  strown 
With  havoc  on  wreck,  and  dashed  therewith 

Pale  crews  unknown — 
Men,  arms,  and  steeds.     The  evening  sun 
Died  on  the  face  of  each  lifeless  one, 
And  died  along  the  winding  marge  of  fight 

And  searching-parties  lone. 


Sloped  on  the  hill  the  mounds  were  green, 

Our  centre  held  that  place  of  graves, 
And  some  still  hold  it  in  their  swoon, 

And  over  these  a  glory  waves. 
The  warrior-monument,  crashed  in  fight,h 
Shall  soar  transfigured  in  loftier  light, 

A  meaning  ampler  bear; 
Soldier  and  priest  with  hymn  and  prayer 
Have  laid  the  stone,  and  every  bone 
Shall  rest  in  honor  there. 


The  House-top. 

A  Night  Piece. 
(JULY,  1863.) 


No  sleep.     The  sultriness  pervades  the  air 
And  binds  the  brain — a  dense  oppression,  such 
As  tawny  tigers  feel  in  matted  shades, 
Vexing  their  blood  and  making  apt  for  ravage. 
Beneath  the  stars  the  roofy  desert  spreads 
Vacant  as  Libya.     All  is  hushed  near  by. 
Yet  fitfully  from  far  breaks  a  mixed  surf 
Of  muffled  sound,  the  Atheist  roar  of  riot. 
Yonder,  where  parching  Sirius  set  in  drought, 
Balefully  glares  red  Arson — there — and  there. 
The  Town  is  taken  by  its  rats — ship-rats 
And  rats  of  the  wharves.     All  civil  charms 
And  priestly  spells  which  late  held  hearts  in  awe- 
Fear-bound,  subjected  to  a  better  sway 
Than  sway  of  self ;  these  like  a  dream  dissolve, 
And  man  rebounds  whole  aeons  back  in  nature.1 


The  House-top.  87 

Hail  to  the  low  dull  rumble,  dull  and  dead, 
And  ponderous  drag  that  shakes  the  wall. 
Wise  Draco  comes,  deep  in  the  midnight  roll 
Of  black  artillery ;  he  comes,  though  late ; 
In  code  corroborating  Calvin's  creed 
And  cynic  tyrannies  of  honest  kings ; 
He  comes,  nor  parlies ;  and  the  Town,  redeemed, 
Gives  thanks  devout ;  nor,  being  thankful,  heeds 
The  grimy  slur  on  the  Republic's  faith  implied, 
Which  holds  that  Man  is  naturally  good, 
And — more — is  Nature's  Roman,  never  to  be  scourged. 


Look-out  Mountain. 

The  Night  Fight. 

(NOVEMBER,  1863.) 


WHO  inhabiteth  the  Mountain 
That  it  shines  in  lurid  light, 

And  is  rolled  about  with  thunders, 
And  terrors,  and  a  blight, 

Like  Kaf  the  peak  of  Eblis— 

.     Kaf,  the  evil  height? 

Who  has  gone  up  with  a  shouting 
And  a  trumpet  in  the  night? 

There  is  battle  in  the  Mountain — 

Might  assaulteth  Might; 
*Tis  the  fastness  of  the  Anarch, 

Torrent-torn,  an  ancient  height; 
The  crags  resound  the  clangor 

Of  the  war  of  Wrong  and  Right ; 
And  the  armies  in  the  valley 

Watch  and  pray  for  dawning  light. 


Look-out  Mountain.  89 

Joy,  joy,  the  day  is  breaking, 

And  the  cloud  is  rolled  from  sight; 
There  is  triumph  in  the  Morning 

For  the  Anarch's  plunging  flight; 
God  has  glorified  the  Mountain 

Where  a  Banner  burneth  bright, 
And  the  armies  in  the  valley 

They  are  fortified  in  right. 


Chattanooga. 
(NOVEMBER,  1863.) 


A  KINDLING  impulse  seized  the  host 
Inspired  by  heaven's  elastic  air^ 

Their  hearts  outran  their  General's  plan, 
Though  Grant  commanded  there — 
Grant,  who  without  reserve  can  dare ; 

And,  "  Well,  go  on  and  do  your  will," 

He  said,  and  measured  the  mountain  then  : 

So  master-riders  fling  the  rein — 
But  you  must  know  your.  men. 

On  yester-morn  in  grayish  mist, 

Armies  like  ghosts  on  hills  had  fought, 

And  rolled  from  the  cloud  their  thunders  loud 
The  Cumberlands  far  had  caught : 
To-day  the  sunlit  steeps  are  sought. 

Grant  stood  on  cliffs  whence  all  was  plain, 
And  smoked  as  one  who  feels  no  cares ; 

But  mastered  nervousness  intense 
Alone  such  calmness  wears. 


Chattanooga.  9 1 

The  summit-cannon  plunge  their  flame 

Sheer  down  the  primal  wall, 
But  up  and  up  each  linking  troop 

In  stretching  festoons  crawl-r- 

Nor  fire  a  shot.     Such  men  appall 
The  foe,  though  brave.     He,  from  the  brink, 

Looks  far  along  the  breadth  of  slope, 
And  sees  two  miles  of  dark  dots  creep, 

And  knows  they  mean  the  cope. 

He  sees  them  creep.     Yet  here  and  there 

Half  hid  'mid  leafless  groves  they  go ; 
As  men  who  ply  through  traceries  high 

Of  turreted  marbles  show — 

So  dwindle  these  to  eyes  below. 
But  fronting  shot  and  flanking  shell 

Sliver  and  rive  the  inwoven  ways  \ 
High  tops  of  oaks  and  high  hearts  fall, 

But  never  the  climbing  stays. 

From  right  to  left,  from  left  to  right 

They  roll  the  rallying  cheer — 
Vie  with  each  other,  brother  with  brother, 

Who  shall  the  first  appear — 

What  color-bearer  with  colors  clear 
In  sharp  relief,  like  sky-drawn  Grant, 


92  Chattanooga. 

Whose  cigar  must  now  be  near  the  stump — 
While  in  solicitude  his  back 
Heaps  slowly  to  a  hump. 

Near  and  more  near;  till  now  the  flags 

Run  like  a  catching  flame; 
And  one  flares  highest,  to  peril  nighest — 

He  means  to  make  a  name : 

Salvos !  they  give  him  his  fame. 
The  staff  is  caught,  and  next  the  rush, 

And  then  the  leap  where  death  has  led ; 
Flag  answered  flag  along  the  crest, 

And  swarms  of  rebels  fled. 

But  some  who  gained  the  envied  Alp, 
And — eager,  ardent,  earnest  there — 

Dropped  into  Death's  wide-open  arms, 

Quelled  on  the  wing  like  eagles  struck  in  air- 
Forever  they  slumber  young  and  fair, 

The  smile  upon  them  as  they  died; 
Their  end  attained,  that  end  a  height : 

Life  was  to  these* a  dream  fulfilled, 
And  death  a  starry  night. 


The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness. 
(1863-4.) 


I. 

LIKE  snows  the  camps  on  Southern  hills 

Lay  all  the  winter  long, 
Our  levies  there  in  patience  stood — 

They  stood  in  patience  strong. 
On  fronting  slopes  gleamed  other  camps 

Where  faith  as  firmly  clung : 
Ah,  froward  kin !  so  brave  amiss — 

The  zealots  of  the  Wrong. 

In  this  strife  of  brothers 

( God,  hear  their  country  call), 

However  it  be,  whatever  betide, 
Let  not  the  just  one  fall. 


Through  the  pointed  glass  our  soldiers  saw 
The  base-ball  bounding  sent ; 


94          The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness. 

They  could  have  joined  them  in  their  sport 

But  for  the  vale's  deep  rent. 
And  others  turned  the  reddish  soil, 

Like  diggers  of  graves  they  bent : 
The  reddish  soil  and  trenching  toil 
Begat  presentiment. 

Did  the  Fathers  feel  mistrust  ? 

Can  no  final  good  be  wrought  ? 
Over  and  over,  again  and  again 

Must  the  fight  for  the  Right  be  fought? 


They  lead  a  Gray-back  to  the  crag : 

"  Your  earth-works  yonder — tell  us,  man !" 
"  A  prisoner-^no  deserter,  I, 

Nor  one  of  the  tell-tale  clan." 
His  rags  they  mark  :  "  True-blue  like  you 

Should  wear  the  color — your  Country's,  man!" 
He  grinds  his  teeth :  "  However  that  be, 

Yon  earth-works  have  their  plan." 

Such  brave  ones,  foully  snared 

By  Belial's  wily  plea, 
Were  faithful  unto  the  evil  end — 
Feudal  fidelity. 


The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness.         95 

"  Well,  then,  your  camps — come,  tell  the  names !" 

Freely  he  leveled  his  finger  then : 
"  Yonder — see — are  our  Georgians ;  on  the  crest, 

The  Carolinians ;  lower,  past  the  glen, 
Virginians — Alabamians — Mississippians — Kentuckians 

(Follow  my  finger) — Tennesseeans ;  and  the  ten 
Camps  there — ask  your  grave-pits ;  they'll  tell. 

Halloa !     I  see  the  picket-hut,  the  den 
Where  I  last  night  lay."     "Where's  Lee?" 

"  In  the  hearts  and  bayonets  of  all  yon  men !" 

The  tribes  swarm  up  to  war 

As  in  ages  long  ago. 
Ere  the  palm  of  promise  leaved 

And  the  lily  of  Christ  did  blow. 


Their  mounted  pickets  for  miles  are  spied 

Dotting  the  lowland  plain, 
The  nearer  ones  in  their  veteran-rags — 

Loutish  they  loll  in  lazy  disdain. 
But  ours  in  perilous  places  bide 

With  rifles  ready  and  eyes  that  strain 
Deep  through  the  dim  suspected  wood 

Where  the  Rapidan  rolls  amain. 


96          The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness. 

The  Indian  has  passed  away, 
But  creeping  comes  another — 

Deadlier  far.     Picket, 

Take  heed— take  heed  of  thy  brother  ! 


From  a  wood-hung  height,  an  outpost  lone, 

Crowned  with  a  woodman's  fort, 
The  sentinel  looks  on  a  land  of  dole, 

Like  Paran,  all  amort. 
Black  chimneys,  gigantic  in  moor-like  wastes, 

The  scowl  of  the  clouded  sky  retort ; 
The  hearth  is  a  houseless  stone  again — 

Ah!  where  shall  the  people  be  sought? 

Since  the  venom  such  blastment  deals, 

TJie  South  should  have  paused,  and  thrice, 

Ere  with  heat  of  her  hate  she  hatched 
The  egg  with  the  cockatrice. 


A  path  down  the  mountain  winds  to  the  glade 
Where  the  dead  of  the  Moonlight  Fight  lie  low; 

A  hand  reaches  out  of  the  thin-laid  mould 
As  begging  help  which  none  can  bestow. 


The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness.         97 

But  the  field-mouse  small  and  busy  ant 

Heap  their  hillocks,  to  hide  if  they  may  the  woe  ? 

By  the  bubbling  spring  lies  the  rusted  canteen, 

And  the  drum  which  the  drummer-boy  dying  let  go. 

Dust  to  dust,  and  blood  for  blood — 
Passion  and  pangs  /,  Has  Time 

Gone  back?  or  is  this  the  Age 
Of  the  world's  great  Prime  ? 


The  wagon  mired  and  cannon  dragged 

Have  trenched  their  scar;  the  plain 
Tramped  like  the  cindery  beach  of  the  damned — 

A  site  for  the  city  of  Cain. 
And  stumps  of  forests  for  dreary  leagues 

Like  a  massacre  show.     The  armies  have  lain 
By  fires  where  gums  and  balms  did  burn, 

And  the  seeds  of  Summer's  reign. 

Where  are  the  birds  and  'boys  ? 

Who  shall  go  chestnutting  when 
October  returns'!     The  nuts — 

O,  long  ere  they  grow  again. 
E 


98          The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness. 

They  snug  their  huts  with  the  chapel-pews, 

In  court-houses  stable  their  steeds — 
Kindle  their  fires  with  indentures  and  bonds, 

And  old  Lord  Fairfax's  parchment  deeds ; 
And  Virginian  gentlemen's  libraries  old — 

Books  which  only  the  scholar  heeds — 
Are  flung  to  Ris  kennel.     It  is  ravage  and  range, 

And  gardens  are  left  to  weeds. 

Turned  adrift  into  war 

Man  runs  wild  on  the  plain, 

Like  the  jennets  let  loose 

On  the  Pampas — zebras  again. 


Like  the  Pleiads  dim,  see  the  tents  through  the  storm — 

Aloft  by  the  hill-side  hamlet's  graves, 
On  a  head-stone  used  for  a  hearth-stone  there 

The  water  is  bubbling  for  punch  for  our  braves. 
What  if  the  night  be  drear,  and  the  blast 

Ghostly  shrieks?  their  rollicking  staves 
Make  frolic  the  heart;  beating  time  with  their  swords, 

What  care  they  if  Winter  raves  ? 

Is  life  but  a  dream  ?  and  so, 

In  the  dream  do  men  laugh  aloud1} 


The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness.         99 

So  strange  seems  mirth  in  a  camp. 
So  like  a  white  tent  to  a  shroud. 


II. 

The  May-weed  springs;  and  c6*mes  a  Man 

And  mounts  our  Signal  Hill ; 
A  quiet  Man,  and  plain  in  garb — 

Briefly  he  looks  his  fill, 
Then  drops  his  gray  eye  on  the  ground, 

Like  a  loaded  mortar  he  is  still : 
Meekness  and  grimness  meet  in  him — 

The  silent  General. 

Were  men  but  strong  and  wise. 

Honest  as  Grant,  and  calm, 
War  would  be  left  to  the  red  and  black  ants, 

And  the  happy  world  disarm. 


That  eve  a  stir  was  in  the  camps, 
Forerunning  quiet  soon  to  come 

Among  the  streets  of  beechen  huts 
No  more  to  know  the  drum. 

The  weed  shall  choke  the  lowly  door, 
And  foxes  peer  within  the  gloom, 


ioo        The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness. 

X 

Till  scared  perchance  by  Mosby's  prowling  men, 
Who  ride  in  .the  rear  of  doom. 

Far  West,  and  farther  South, 
Wherever  the  sword  has  been, 

Deserted  camps  are  met, 
And  desert  graves  are  seen. 


The  livelong  night  they  ford  the  flood ; 

With  guns  held  high  they  silent  press, 
Till  shimmers  the  grass  in  their  bayonets'  sheen — 

On  Morning's  banks  their  ranks  they  dress ; 
Then  by  the  forests  lightly  wind, 

Whpse  waving  boughs  the  pennons  seem  to  bless, 
Borne  by  the  cavalry  scouting  on — 

Sounding  the  Wilderness. 

Like  shoals  of  fish  in  spring 

That  visit  Crusoe's  isle, 
The  host  in  the  lonesome  place — 

TJie  hundred  thousand  file. 


The  foe  that  held  his  guarded  hills 
Must  speed  to  woods  afar ; 


The  Armies  '  of  iht  Wilderness,        /oi 

For  the  scheme  that  was  nursed  by  the  Culpepper  hearth 

With  the  slowly-smoked  cigar — 
The  scheme  that  smouldered  through  winter  long 

Now  bursts  into  act — into  war — 
The  resolute  scheme  of  a  heart  as  calm 

As  the  Cyclone's  core. 

The  fight  for  the  city  is  fought 

In  Natures  old  domain; 
Man, goes  out  to  the  wilds, 

And  Orpheus*  charm  is  vain. 


In  glades  they  meet  skull  after  skull 

Where  pine-cones  lay — the  rusted  gun, 
Green  shoes  full  of  bones,  the  mouldering  coat 

And  cuddled-up  skeleton; 
And  scores  of  such.     Some  start  as  in  dreams, 

And  comrades  lost  bemoan  : 
By  the  edge  of  those  wilds  Stonewall  had  charged- 

But  the  Year  and  the  Man  were  gone. 

At  the  height  of  their  madness 

The  night  winds  pause. 
Recollecting  themselves  ; 

But  no  lull  in  these  wars. 


IO2        'Tkz  Armies  of  the  Wilderness. 

A  gleam! — a  volley!     And  who  shall  go 

Storming  the  swarmers  in  jungles  dread? 
No  cannon-ball  answers,  no  proxies  are  sent — 

They  rush  in  the  shrapnel's  stead. 
Plume  and  sash  are  vanities  now — 

Let  them  deck  the  pall  of  the  dead ; 
They  go  where  the  shade  is,  perhaps  into  Hades, 

Where  the  brave  of  all  times  have  led. 

Therms  a  dust  of  hurrying  feet, 
Bitten  lips  and  bated  breath, 

And  drums  that  challenge  to  the  grave, 
And  faces  fixed,  forefeeling  death. 


What  husky  huzzahs  in  the  hazy  groves — 

What  flying  encounters  fell ; 
Pursuer  and  pursued  like  ghosts  disappear 

In  gloomed  shade — their  end  who  shall  tell  ? 
The  crippled,  a  ragged-barked  stick  for  a  crutch, 

Limp  to  some  elfin  dell — 
Hobble  from  the  sight  of  dead  faces — white 

As  pebbles  in  a-  well. 

Few  burial  rites  shall  be; 

No  priest  with  book  and  band 


The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness.       103 

Shall  come  to  the  secret  place 

Of  the  corpse  in  the  foemarfs  land. 


Watch  and  fast,  march  and  fight — clutch  your  gun ! 

Day-fights  and  night-fights;  sore  is  the  stress; 
Look,  through  the  pines  what  line  comes  on? 

Longstreet  slants  through  the  hauntedness! 
'Tis  charge  for  charge,  and  shout  for  yell  : 

Such  battles  on  battles  oppress — 
But  Heaven  lent  strength,  the  Right  strove  well, 

And  emerged  from  the  Wilderness. 

Emerged,  for  the  way  was  won; 

But  the  Pillar  of  Smoke  that  led 
Was  brand-like  with  ghosts  that  went  up 
Ashy  and  red. 


None  can  narrate  that  strife  in  the  pines, 

A  seal  is  on  it — Sabaean  lore ! 
Obscure  as  the  wood,  the  entangled  rhyme 

But  hints  at  the  maze  of  war — 
Vivid  glimpses  or  livid  through  peopled  gloom, 

And  fires  which  creep  and  char — 
A  riddle  of  death,  of  which  the  slain 
Sole  solvers  are. 


iO4        The  Armies  of  the  Wilderness. 

Long  they  withhold  the  roll 

Of  the  shroudless  dead.     It  is  right; 
Not  yet  can  we  bear  the  flare 
Of  the  funeral  light. 


On  the  Photograph  of  a  Corps  Commander. 


AY,  man  is  manly.     Here  you  see 
The  warrior-carriage  of  the  head, 

And  brave  dilation  of  the  frame ; 
And  lighting  all,  the  soul  that  led 

In  Spottsylvania's  charge  to  victory, 
Which  justifies  his  fame. 


A  cheering  picture.     It  is  good 
To  look  upon  a  Chief  like  this, 

In  whom  the  spirit  moulds  the  form. 
Here  favoring  Nature,  oft  remiss, 

With  eagle  mien  expressive  has  endued 
A  man  to  kindle  strains  that  warm. 


Trace  back  his  lineage,  and  his  sires, 
Yeoman  or  noble,  you  shall  find 

Enrolled  with  men  of  Agincourt, 

Heroes  who  shared  great  Harry's  mind. 
E  2 


1 06  On  the  Photograph  of  a  Corps  Commander. 

Down  to  us  come  the  knightly  Norman  fires, 
And  front  the  Templars  bore. 


Nothing  can  lift  the  heart  of  man 
Like  manhood  in  a  fellow-man. 

The  thought  of  heaven's  great  King  afar 
But  humbles  us — too  weak  to  scan ; 

But  manly  greatness  men  can  span, 
And  feel  the  bonds  that  draw. 


The  Swamp  Angel} 


THERE  is  a  coal-black  Angel 

With  a  thick  Afric  lip, 
And  he  dwells  (like  the  hunted  and  harried) 

In  a  swamp  where  the  green  frogs  dip. 
But  his  face  is  against  a  City 

Which  is  over  a  bay  of  the  sea, 
And  he  breathes  with  a  breath  that  is  blastment, 

And  dooms  by  a  far  decree. 


By  night  there  is  fear  in  the  City, 

Through  the  darkness  a  star  soareth  on ; 
There's  a  scream  that  screams  up  to  the  zenith, 

Then  the  poise  of  a  meteor  lone — 
Lighting  far  the  pale  fright  of  the  faces, 

And  downward  the  coming  is  seen ; 
Then  the  rush,  and  the  burst,  and  the  havoc, 

And  wails  and  shrieks  between. 


io8  The  Swamp  Angel. 

It  comes  like  the  thief  in  the  gloaming ; 

It  comes,  and  none  may  foretell 
The  place  of  the  coming — the  glaring; 

They  live  in  a  sleepless  spell 
That  wizens,  and  withers,  and  whitens ; 

It  ages  the  young,  and  the  bloom 
Of  the  maiden  is  ashes  of  roses — 

The  Swamp  Angel  broods  in  his  gloom. 


Swift  is  his  messengers'  going, 

But  slowly  he  saps  their  halls, 
As  if  by  delay  deluding. 

They  move  from  their  crumbling  walls 
Farther  and  farther  away; 

But  the  Angel  sends  after  and  after, 
By  night  with  the  flame  of  his  ray — 

By  night  with  the  voice  of  his  screaming- 
Sends  after  them,  stone  by  stone, 

And  farther  walls  fall,  farther  portals, 
And  weed  follows  weed  through  the  Town. 


Is  this  the  proud  City?  the  scorner 
Which  never  would  yield  the  ground  ? 

Which  mocked  at  the  coal-black  Angel? 
The  cup  of  despair  goes  round. 


The  Swamp  Angel.  109 


Vainly  she  calls  upon  Michael 
(The  white  man's  seraph  was  he), 

For  Michael  has  fled  from  his  tower 
To  the  Angel  over  the  sea. 


Who  weeps  for  the  woeful  City 
Let  him  weep  for  our  guilty  kind ; 

Who  joys  at  her  wild  despairing — 
Christ,  the  Forgiver,  convert  his  mind. 


The  Battle  for  the  Bay. 
(AUGUST,  1864.) 


O  MYSTERY  of  noble  hearts, 

To  whom  mysterious  seas  have  been 
In  midnight  watches,  lonely  calm  and  storm, 

A  stern,  sad  discipline, 
And  rooted  out  the  false  and  vain, 

And  chastened  them  to  aptness  for 

Devotion  and  the  deeds  of  war, 
And  death  which  smiles  and  cheers  in  spite  of  pain. 


Beyond  the  bar  the  land-wind  dies, 

The  prows  becharmed  at  anchor  swim  : 

A  summer  night;  the  stars  withdrawn  look  down- 
Fair  eve  of  battle  grim. 

The  sentries  pace,  bonetas  glide ; 
Below,  the  sleeping  sailors  swing, 
And  in  their  dreams  to  quarters  spring, 

Or  cheer  their  flag,  or  breast  a  stormy  tide. 


The  Battle  for  the  Bay.  1 1 1 

But  drums  are  beat :  Up  anchor  all! 

The  triple  lines  steam  slowly  on; 
Day  breaks,  and  through  the  sweep  of  decks  each  man 

Stands  coldly  by  his  gun — 
As  cold  as  it.     But  he  shall  warm— - 

Warm  with  the  solemn  metal  there, 

And  all  its  ordered  fury  share, 
In  attitude  a  gladiatorial  form. 


The  Admiral — yielding  to  the  love 

Which  held  his  life  and  ship  so  dear — 

Sailed  second  in  the  long  fleet's  midmost  line ; 
Yet  thwarted  all  their  care : 

He  lashed  himself  aloft,  and  shone 
Star  of  the  fight,  with  influence  sent 
Throughout  the  dusk  embattlement ; 

And  so  they  neared  the  strait  and  walls  of  stone. 


No  sprightly  fife  as  in  the  field, 

The  decks  were  hushed  like  fanes  in  prayer; 
Behind  each  man  a  holy  angel  stood — 
He  stood,  though  none  was  'ware. 
Out  spake  the  forts  on  either  hand, 

Back  speak  the  ships  when  spoken  to, 


1 1 2  The  Battle  for  the  Bay. 

And  set  their  flags  in  concert  true, 
And  On  and  in!  is  Farragut's  command. 


But  what  delays?  'mid  wounds  above 
Dim  buoys  give  hint  of  death  below — 

Sea-ambuscades,  where  evil  art  had  aped 
Hecla  that  hides  in  snow. 

The  centre-van,  entangled,  trips ; 

The  starboard  leader  holds  straight  on  : 
A  cheer  for  the  Tecumseh! — nay, 

Before  their  eyes  the  turreted  ship  goes  down ! 


The  fire  redoubles.     While  the  fleet 
Hangs  dubious — ere  the  horror  ran — 

The  Admiral  rushes  to  his  rightful  place — 
Well  met !  apt  hour  and  man  ! — 

Closes  with  peril,  takes  the  lead, 
His  action  is  a  stirring  call; 
He  strikes  his  great  heart  through  them  all, 

And  is  the  genius  of  their  daring  deed. 


The  forts  are  daunted,  slack  their  fire, 
Confounded  by  the  deadlier  aim 


The  Battle  for  the  Bay.  1 1 3 

And  rapid  broadsides  of  the  speeding  fleet, 

And  fierce  denouncing  flame. 
Yet  shots  from  four  dark  hulls  embayed 

Come  raking  through  the  loyal  crews, 

Whom  now  each  dying  mate  endues 
With  his  last  look,  anguished  yet  undismayed. 


A  flowering  time  to  guilt  is  given, 

And  traitors  have  their  glorying  hour; 

O  late,  but  sure,  the  righteous  Paramount  comes — 
Palsy  is  on  their  power ! 

So  proved  it  with  the  rebel  keels, 
The  strong-holds  past :  assailed,  they  run ; 
The  Selma  strikes,  and  the  work  is  done  : 

The  dropping  anchor  the  achievement  seals. 


But  no,  she  turns — the  Tennessee ! 

The  solid  Ram  of  iron  and  oak, 
Strong  as  Evil,  and  bold  as  Wrong,  though  lone — 

A  pestilence  in  her  smoke. 
The  flag-ship  is  her  singled  mark, 

The  wooden  Hartford.     Let  her  come  ; 

She  challenges  the  planet  of  Doom, 
And  naught  shall  save  her — not  her  iron  bark. 


1 1 4  The  Battle  for  the  Bay. 

Slip  anchor •,  all!  and  at  her,  all! 

Bear  down  with  rushing  beaks — and  now ! 

First  the  Monongahela  struck — and  reeled; 
The  Lackawana's  prow 

Next  crashed — crashed,  but  not  crashing ;  then 
The  Admiral  rammed,  and  rasping  nigh 
Sloped  in  a  broadside,  which  glanced  by : 

The  Monitors  battered  at  her  adamant  den. 


The  Chickasaw  plunged  beneath  the  stern 
And  pounded  there;  a  huge  wrought  orb 

From  the  Manhattan  pierced  one  wall,  but  dropped ; 
Others  the  seas  absorb. 

Yet  stormed  on  all  sides,  narrowed  in, 

Hampered  and  'cramped,  the  bad  one  fought — 
Spat  ribald  curses  from  the  port 

Whose  shutters,  jammed,  locked  up  this  Man-of-Sin. 


No  pause  or  stay.     They  made  a  din 
Like  hammers  round  a  boiler  forged ; 

Now  straining  strength  tangled  itself  with  strength, 
Till  Hate  her  will  disgorged. 

The  white  flag  showed,  the  fight  was  won — 
Mad  shouts  went  up  that  shook  the  Bay; 


The  Battle  for  the  Bay.  1 1 5 

But  pale  on  the  scarred  fleet's  decks  there  lay 
A  silent  man  for  every  silenced  gun. 


And  quiet  far  below  the  wave, 
Where  never  cheers  shall  move  their  sleep, 

Some  who  did  boldly,  nobly  earn  them,  lie — 
Charmed  children  of  the  deep. 

But  decks  that  now  are  in  the  seed, 
And  cannon  yet  within  the  mine, 
Shall  thrill  the  deeper,  gun  and  pine, 

Because  of  the  Tecumseh's  glorious  deed. 


Sheridan  at  Cedar  Creek. 
(OCTOBER,  1864.) 


SHOE  the  steed  with  silver 

That  bore  him  to  the  fray, 
When  he  heard  the  guns  at  dawning — 

Miles  away; 

When  he  heard  them  calling,  calling — 
Mount !  nor  stay  : 
Quick,  or  all  is  lost; 
They've  surprised  and  stormed  the  post, 
They  push  your  routed  host — 
Gallop !  retrieve  the  day. 

House  the  horse  in  ermine — 

For  the  foam-flake  blew 
White  through  the  red  October; 

He  thundered  into  view; 
They  cheered  him  in  the  looming, 

Horseman  and  horse  they  knew. 


Sheridan  at  Cedar  Creek.  117 

The. turn  of  the  tide  began, 
The  rally  of  bugles  ran, 
He  swung  his  hat  in  the  van; 
The  electric  hoof-spark  flew. 

Wreathe  the  steed  and  lead  him — 

For  the  charge  he  led 
Touched  and  turned  the  cypress 

Into  amaranths  for  the  head 
Of  Philip,  king  of  riders, 
Who  raised  them  from  the  dead. 

The  camp  (at  dawning  lost), 
By  eve,  recovered — forced, 
Rang  with  laughter  of  the  host 
At  belated  Early  fled. 

Shroud  the  horse  in  sable — 

For  the  mounds  they  heap! 
There  is  firing  in  the  Valley, 

And  yet  no  strife  they  keep; 
It  is  the  parting  volley, 
It  is  the  pathos  deep. 

There  is  glory  for  the  brave 
Who  lead,  and  nobly  save, 
But  no  knowledge  in  the  grave 
Where  the  nameless  followers  sleep. 


In  the  Prison  Pen. 
(1864.) 


LISTLESS  he  eyes  the  palisades 

And  sentries  in  the  glare ; 
'Tis  barren  as  a  pelican-beach — 

But  his  world  is  ended  there. 

Nothing  to  do ;  and  vacant  hands 

Bring  on  the  idiot-pain ; 
He  tries  to  think — to  recollect, 

But  the  blur  is  on  his  brain. 

Around  him  swarm  the  plaining  ghosts 
Like  those  on  Virgil's  shore — 

A  wilderness  of  faces  dim, 

And  pale  ones  gashed  and  hoar. 

A  smiting  sun.     No  shed,  no  tree ; 

He  totters  to  his  lair — 
A  den  that  sick  hands  dug  in  earth 

Ere  famine  wasted  there, 


*     In  the  Prison  Pen.  1 1 9 

Or,  dropping  in  his  place,  he  swoons, 

Walled  in  by  throngs  that  press, 
Till  forth  from  the  throngs  they  bear  him  dead — 

Dead  in  his  meagreness. 


The  College  Colonel. 


HE  rides  at  their  head; 

A  crutch  by  his  saddle  just  slants  in  view, 
One  slung  arm  is  in  splints,  you  see, 

Yet  he  guides  his  strong  steed — how  coldly  too. 

He  brings  his  regiment  home — 

Not  as  they  filed  two  years  before, 
But  a  remnant  half-tattered,  and  battered,  and  worn, 
Like  castaway  sailors,  who — stunned 
By  the  surfs  loud  roar, 

Their  mates  dragged  back  and  seen  no  more — 
Again  and  again  breast  the  surge, 

And  at  last  crawl,  spent,  to  shore. 

A  still  rigidity  and  pale — 

An  Indian  aloofness  lones  his  brow; 
He  has  lived  a  thousand  years 
Compressed  in  battle's  pains'  and  prayers, 
Marches  and  watches  slow. 


The  College  Colonel.  121 

There  are  welcoming  shouts,  and  flags ; 

Old  men  off  hat  to  the  Boy, 
Wreaths  from  gay  balconies  fall  at  his  feet, 

But  to  him — there  comes  alloy. 

It  is  not  that  a  leg  is  lost, 

It  is  not  that  an  arm  is  maimed, 
It  is  not  that  the  fever  has  racked — 

Self  he  has  long  disclaimed. 

But  all  through  the  Seven  Days'  Fight, 

And  deep  in  the  Wilderness  grim, 
And  in  the  field-hospital  tent, 

And  Petersburg  crater,  and  dim 
Lean  brooding  in  Libby,  there  came — - 

Ah  heaven ! — what  truth  to  him. 
F 


The  Eagle  of  the  Blue} 


ALOFT  he  guards  the  starry  folds 
Who  is  the  brother  of  the  star ; 

The  bird  whose  joy  is  in  the  wind 
Exulteth  in  the  war. 

No  painted  plume — a  sober  hue, 

His  beauty  is  his  power; 
That  eager  calm  of  gaze  intent 

Foresees  the  Sibyl's  hour. 

Austere,  he  crowns  the  swaying  perch, 
Flapped  by  the  angry  flag; 

The  hurricane  from  the  battery  sings, 
But  his  claw  has  known  the  crag. 

Amid  the  scream  of  shells,  his  scream 
Runs  shrilling;  and  the  glare 

Of  eyes  that  brave  the  blinding  sun 
The  vollled  flame  can  bear. 


The  Eagle  of  the  Blue.  123 

The  pride  of  quenchless  strength  is  his — 
Strength  which,  though  chained,  avails ; 

The  very  rebel  looks  and  thrills — 
The  anchored  Emblem  hails. 

Though  scarred  in  many  a  furious  fray, 

No  deadly  hurt  he  knew; 
Well  may  we  think  his  years  are  charmed — 

The  Eagle  of  the  Blue. 


A  Dirge  for  McPherson* 

Killed  in  front  of  Atlanta. 
(JULY,  1864.) 


ARMS  reversed  and  banners  craped — 

Muffled  drums  ; 
Snowy  horses  sable-draped — 

McPherson  comes. 

But,  tell  us,  shall  we  know  him  more, 
Lost-Mountain  and  lone  Kenesaw  ? 


Brave  the  sword  upon  the  pall — 
A  gleam  in  gloom ; 

So  a  bright  name  lighteth  all 
McPherson's  doom. 

Bear  him  through  the  chapel-door- 

Let  priest  in  stole 
Pace  before  the  warrior 

Who  led.     Bell— toll ! 


A  Dirge  for  Me  P  her  son.  125 

Lay  him  down  within  the  nave, 

The  Lesson  read — 
Man  is  noble,  man  is  brave, 

But  man's — a  weed. 

Take  him  up  again  and  wend 

Graveward,  nor  weep : 
There's  a  trumpet  that  shall  rend 

This  Soldier's  sleep. 

Pass  the  ropes  the  coffin  round, 

And  let  descend; 
Prayer  and  volley — let  it  sound 

McPherson's  end. 

True  fame  is  his,  for  life  is  o'er — 
Sarpedon  of  the  mighty  war. 


At  the  Cannon's  Mouth. 

Destruction  of  the  Ram  Albemarle  by  the  Torpedo-launch. 
(OCTOBER,  1864.) 


PALELY  intent,  he  urged  his  keel 

Full  on  the  guns,  and  touched  the  spring; 
Himself  involved  in  the  bolt  he  drove 
Timed  with  the  armed  hull's  shot  that  stove 
His  shallop — die  or  do  ! 
Into  the  flood  his  life  he  threw, 

Yet  lives — unscathed — a  breathing  thing 
To  marvel  at. 

He  has  his  fame; 
But  that  mad  dash  at  death,  how  name? 

Had  Earth  no  charm  to  stay  the  Boy 
From  the  martyr-passion?     Could  he  dare 

Disdain  the  Paradise  of  opening  joy 

Which  beckons  the  fresh  heart  every  where? 

Life  has  more  lures  than  any  girl 

For  youth  and  strength ;  puts  forth  a  share 


At  the  Cannons  Mouth.  127 

Of  beauty,  hinting  of  yet  rarer  store ; 
And  ever  with  unfathomable  eyes, 

Which  bafflingly  entice, 
Still  strangely  does  Adonis  draw. 
And  life  once  over,  who  shall  tell  the  rest? 
Life  is,  of  all  we  know,  God's  best. 
What  imps  these  eagles  then,  that  they 
Fling  disrespect  on  life  by  that  proud  way 
In  which  they  soar  above  our  lower  clay. 

Pretense  of  wonderment  and  doubt  unblest : 

In  Cushing's  eager  deed  was  shown 

A  spirit  which  brave  poets  own — 
That  scorn  of  life  which  earns  life's  crown ; 

Earns,  but  not  always  wins ;  but  he — 

The  star  ascended  in  his  nativity. 


The  March  to  the  Sea. 
(DECEMBER,  1864.) 


NOT  Kenesaw  high-arching, 

Nor  Allatoona's  glen — 
Though  there  the  graves  lie  parching — 

Stayed  Sherman's  miles  of  men ; 
From  charred  Atlanta  marching 
They  launched  the  sword  again. 

The  columns  streamed  like  rivers 

Which  in  their  course  agree, 
And  they  streamed  until  their  flashing 
Met  the  flashing  of  the  sea : 

It  was  glorious  glad  marching, 
That  marching  to  the  sea. 


They  brushed  the  foe  before  them 
(Shall  gnats  impede  the  bull?); 

Their  own  good  bridges  bore  them 
Over  swamps  or  torrents  full, 


The  March  to  the  Sea.  129 

And  the  grand  pines  waving  o'er  them 
Bowed  to  axes  keen  and  cool. 

The  columns  grooved  their  channels, 

Enforced  their  own  decree, 
And  their  power  met  nothing  larger 
Until  it  met  the  sea : 

It  was  glorious  glad  marching, 
A  marching  glad  and  free. 


Kilpatrick's  snare  of  riders 

In  zigzags  mazed  the  land, 
Perplexed  the  pale  Southsiders 

With  feints  on  every  hand; 

Vague  menace  awed  the  hiders 

In  forts  beyond  command. 

To  Sherman's  shifting  problem 

No  foeman  knew  the  key ; 
But  onward  went  the  marching 
Unpausing  to  the  sea : 

It  was  glorious  glad  marching, 
The  swinging  step  was  free. 


The  flankers  ranged  like  pigeons 
In  clouds  through  field  or  wood  ; 
F  2 


130  The  March  to  the  Sea. 

The  flocks  of  all  those  regions, 
The  herds  and  horses  good, 
Poured  in  and  swelled  the  legions, 
For  they  caught  the  marching  mood. 

A  volley  ahead !     They  hear  it ; 

And  they  hear  the  repartee : 
Fighting  was  but  frolic 

In  that  marching  to  the  sea : 

It  was  glorious  glad  marching, 
A  marching  bold  and  free. 


All  nature  felt  their  coming, 

The  birds  like  couriers  flew, 
And  the  banners  brightly  blooming 

The  slaves  by  thousands  drew, 
And  they  marched  beside  the  drumming, 
And  they  joined  the  armies  blue. 

The  cocks  crowed  from  the  cannon 

(Pets  named  from  Grant  and  Lee), 
Plumed  fighters  and  campaigners 
In  that  marching  to  the  sea: 

It  was  glorious  glad  marching, 
For  every  man  was  free. 


The  March  to  the  Sea.  131 

The  foragers  through  calm  lands 

Swept  in  tempest  gay, 
And  they  breathed  the  air  of  balm-lands 

Where  rolled  savannas  lay, 
And  they  helped  themselves  from  farm-lands — 
As  who  should  say  them  nay? 

The  regiments  uproarious 

Laughed  in  Plenty's  glee; 
And  they  marched  till  their  broad  laughter 
Met  the  laughter  of  the  sea : 

It  was  glorious  glad  marching, 
That  marching  to  the  sea. 


The  grain  of  endless  acres 

Was  threshed  (as  in  the  East) 
By  the  trampling  of  the  Takers, 

Strong  march  of  man  and  beast ; 
The  flails  of  those  earth-shakers 
Left  a  famine  where  they  ceased. 

The  arsenals  were  yielded; 

The  sword  (that  was  to  be), 
Arrested  in  the  forging, 

Rued  that  marching  to  the  sea : 
It  was  glorious  glad  marching, 
But  ah,  the  stern  decree ! 


132  The  March  to  the  Sea. 

For  behind  they  left  a  wailing, 

A  terror  and  a  ban, 
And  blazing  cinders  sailing, 

And  houseless  households  wan, 
Wide  zones  of  counties  paling, 
And  towns  where  maniacs  ran. 

Was  it  Treason's  retribution — 

Necessity  the  plea? 
They  will  long  remember  Sherman 
And  his  streaming  columns  free — 

They  will  long  remember  Sherman 
Marching  to  the  sea. 


The  Frenzy  in  the  Wake? 

Sherman's  advance  through  the  Carolinas. 

(FEBRUARY,  1865.) 


So  strong  to  suffer,  shall  we  be 
Weak  to  contend,  and  break 
The  sinews  of  the  Oppressor's  knee 
That  grinds  upon  the  neck? 

O,  the  garments  rolled  in  blood 

Scorch  in  cities  wrapped  in  flame, 
And  the  African — the  imp ! 
He  gibbers,  imputing  shame. 


Shall  Time,  avenging  every  woe, 

To  us  that  joy  allot 

Which  Israel  thrilled a  when  Sisera's  brow 
Showed  gaunt  and  showed  the  clot? 

Curse  on  their  foreheads,  cheeks,  and  eyes — 

The  Northern  faces — true 
To  the  flag  we  hate,  the  flag  whose  stars 
Like  planets  strike  us  through. 


134  The  Frenzy  in  the  Wake. 

From  frozen  Maine  they  come, 

Far  Minnesota  too; 

They  come  to  a  sun  whose  rays  disown — 
May  it  wither  them  as  the  dew ! 

The  ghosts  of  our  slain  appeal : 
"Vain  shall  our  victories  be?" 
But  back  from  its  ebb  the  flood  recoils — 
Back  in  a  whelming  sea. 


With  burning  woods  our  skies  are  brass, 

The  pillars  of  dust  are  seen ; 
The  live-long  day  their  cavalry  pass — 
No  crossing  the  road  between. 

We  were  sore  deceived — an  awful  host ! 

They  move  like  a  roaring  wind. 
Have  we  gamed  and  lost?  but  even  despair 
Shall  never  our  hate  rescind. 


The  Fall  of  Richmond. 

The  tidings  received  in  the  Northern  Metropolis. 
(APRIL,  1865.) 


WHAT  mean  these  peals  from  every  tower, 
And  crowds  like  seas  that  sway? 

The  cannon  reply;  they  speak  the  heart 
Of  the  People  impassioned,  and  say — 

A  city  in  flags  for  a  city  in  flames, 
Richmond  goes  Babylon's  way — 
Sing  and  pray. 


O  weary  years  and  woeful  wars, 

And  armies  in  the  grave ; 
But  hearts  unquelled  at  last  deter 
The  helmed  dilated  Lucifer — 

Honor  to  Grant  the  brave, 
Whose  three  stars  now  like  Orion's  rise 

When  wreck  is  on  the  wave — 
Bless  his  glaive. 


1 36  The  Fall  of  Richmond. 

Well  that  the  faith  we  firmly  kept, 

And  never  our  aim  forswore 
For  the  Terrors  that  trooped  from  each  recess 
When  fainting  we  fought  in  the  Wilderness, 

And  Hell  made  loud  hurrah; 
But  God  is  in  Heaven,  and  Grant  in  the  Town, 

And  Right  through  might  is  Law — 
God^s  way  adore. 


The  Surrender  at  Appomattox. 
(APRIL,  1865.) 


As  billows  upon  billows  roll, 
On  victory  victory  breaks; 
Ere  yet  seven  days  from  Richmond's  fall 

And  crowning  triumph  wakes 
The  loud  joy-gun,  whose  thunders  run 
By  sea-shore,  streams,  and  lakes. 

The  hope  and  great  event  agree 

In  the  sword  that  Grant  received  from  Lee. 


The  warring  eagles  fold  the  wing, 

But  not  in  Caesar's  sway; 
Not  Rome  o'ercome  by  Roman  arms  we  sing, 

As  on  Pharsalia's  day, 
But  Treason  thrown,  though  a  giant  grown, 
And  Freedom's  larger  play. 

All  human  tribes  glad  token  see 

In  the  close  of  the  wars  of  Grant  and  Lee. 


A  Canticle: 

Significant  of  the  national  exaltation  of  enthusiasm  at  the 
close  of  the  War. 


O  THE  precipice  Titanic 

Of  the  congregated  Fall, 
And  the  angle  oceanic 

Where  the  deepening  thunders  call — • 
And  the  Gorge  so  grim, 
And  the  firmamental  rim! 
Multitudinously  thronging 

The  waters  all  converge, 
Then  they  sweep  adown  in  sloping 

Solidity  of  surge. 

The  Nation,  in  her  impulse 
Mysterious  as  the  Tide, 

In  emotion  like  an  ocean 

Moves  in  power,  not  in  pride ; 

And  is  deep  in  her  devotion 
As  Humanity  is  wide. 


A   Canticle.  139 

Thou  Lord  of  hosts  victorious, 

The  confluence  Thou  hast  twined  ; 

By  a  wondrous  way  and  glorious 
A  passage  Thou  dost  find — 
A  passage  Thou  dost  find : 

Hosanna  to  the  Lord  of  hosts, 
The  hosts  of  human  kind. 


Stable  in  its  baselessness 

When  calm  is  in  the  air, 
The  Iris  half  in  tracelessness 

Hovers  faintly  fair. 
Fitfully  assailing  it 

A  wind  from  heaven  blows, 
Shivering  and  paling  it  / 

To  blankness  of  the  snows ; 
While,  incessant  in  renewal, 

The  Arch  rekindled  grows, 
Till  again  the  gem  and  jewel 

Whirl  in  blinding  overthrows — 
Till,  prevailing  and  transcending, 

Lo,  the  Glory  perfect  there, 
And  the  contest  finds  an  ending, 

For  repose  is  in  the  air. 


140  A   Canticle. 

But  the  foamy  Deep  unsounded, 

And  the  dim  and  dizzy  ledge, 
And  the  booming  roar  rebounded, 

And  the  gull  that  skims  the  edge ! 
The  Giant  of  the  Pool 
Heaves  his  forehead  white  as  wool — 
Toward  the  Iris  ever  climbing 

From  the  Cataracts  that  call — 
Irremovable  vast  arras 

Draping  all  the  Wall. 

The  Generations  pouring 
From  times  of  endless  date, 

In  their  going,  in  their  flowing 
Ever  form  the  steadfast  State ; 

And  Humanity  is  growing 

Toward  the  fullness  of  her  fate. 

Thou  Lord  of  hosts  victorious, 
Fulfill  the  end  designed ; 

By  a  wondrous  way  and  glorious 
A  passage  Thou  dost  find — 
A  passage  Thou  dost  find  : 

Hosanna  to  the  Lord  of  hosts, 
The  hosts  of  human  kind. 


The  Martyr. 

Indicative  of  the  passion  of  the  people  on  the  i$th  of 
April,  1865. 


GOOD  Friday  was  the  day 

Of  the  prodigy  and  crime, 
When  they  killed  him  in  his  pity, 

When  they  killed  him  hi  his  prime 
Of  clemency  and  calm — 

When  with  yearning  he  was  filled 
To  redeem  the  evil-willed, 
And,  though  conqueror,  be  "kind  ; 

But  they  killed  him  in  his  kindness, 

In  their  madness  and  their  blindness, 
And  they  killed  him  from  behind. 

There  is  sobbing  of  the  strong, 
And  a  pall  upon  the  land ; 

But  the  People  in  their  weeping 
Bare  the  iron  hand  : 

Beware  the  People  weeping 
When  they  bare  the  iron  hand. 


142  The  Martyr. 

He  lieth  in  his  blood — 

The  father  in  his  face ; 
They  have  killed  him,  the  Forgiver — 

The  Avenger  takes  his  place,0 
The  Avenger  wisely  stern, 

Who  in  righteousness  shall  do 
What  the  heavens  call  him  to, 
And  the  parricides  remand; 

For  they  killed  him  in  his  kindness, 

In  their  madness  and  their  blindness, 
And  his  blood  is  on  their  hand. 

There  is  sobbing  of  the  strong, 
And  a  pall  upon  the  land; 

But  the  People  in  their  weeping 
Bare  the  iron  hand : 

Beware  the  People  weeping 
When  they  bare  the  iron  hand. 


"  The  Coming  Storm  :" 

A  Picture  by  S.  R.  Gifford,  and  owned  by  E.  B.     Included 
in  the  N.  A.  Exhibition,  April,  1865. 


ALL  feeling  hearts  must  feel  for  him 

Who  felt  this  picture.     Presage  dim- 
Dim  inklings  from  the  shadowy  sphere 
Fixed  him  and  fascinated  here. 

A  demon-cloud  like  the  mountain  one 

Burst  on  a  spirit  as  mild 
As  this  urned  lake,  the  home  of  shades. 

But  Shakspeare's  pensive  child 

Never  the  lines  had  lightly  scanned, 
Steeped  in  fable,  steeped  in  fate; 
The  Hamlet  in  his  heart  was  'ware, 
"  Such  hearts  can  antedate. 

No  utter  surprise  can  come  to  him 
Who  reaches  Shakspeare's  core; 
That  which  we  seek  and  shun  is  there — 
Man's  final  lore. 


Rebel  Color-bearers  at  Skiloh? 

A  plea  against  the  vindictive  cry  raised  by  civilians  shortly 
after  the  surrender  at  Appomattox. 


THE  color-bearers  facing  death 

White  in  the  whirling  sulphurous  wreath, 

Stand  boldly  out  before  the  line ; 
Right  and  left  their  glances  go, 
Proud  of  each  other,  glorying  in  their  show ; 
Their  battle-flags  about  them  blow, 

And  fold  them  as  in  flame  divine : 
Such  living  robes  are  only  seen 
Round  martyrs  burning  on  the  green — 
And  martyrs  for  the  Wrong  have  been. 

Perish  their  Cause !  but  mark  the  men — 
Mark  the  planted  statues,  then 
Draw  trigger  on  them  if  you  can. 

The  leader  of  a  patriot-band 
? 

Even  so  could  view  rebels  who  so  could  stand ; 


Rebel  Color-bearers  at  Shiloh.         145 

And  this  when  peril  pressed  him  sore, 
Left  aidless  in  the  shivered  front  of  war — 

Skulkers  behind,  defiant  foes  before, 
And  fighting  with  a  broken  brand. 
The  challenge  in  that  courage  rare — 
Courage  defenseless,  proudly  bare — 
Never  could  tempt  him ;  he  could  dare 
Strike  up  the  leveled  rifle  there. 

Sunday  at  Shiloh,  and  the  day 

When  Stonewall  charged — McClellan's  crimson  May, 

And  Chickamauga's  wave  of  death, 

And  of  the  Wilderness  the  cypress  wreath — 

All  these  have  passed  away. 
The  life  in  the  veins  of  Treason  lags, 
Her  daring  color-bearers  drop  their  flags, 
And  yield.     Now  shall  we  fire? 

Can  poor  spite  be? 
Shall  nobleness  in  victory  less  aspire 
Than  in  reverse?     Spare  Spleen  her  ire, 
And  think  how  Grant  met  Lee. 
G 


The  Muster* 

Suggested  by  the  Two  Days'  Review  at  Washington. 
(MAY,  1865.) 


THE  Abrahamic  river — 

Patriarch  of  floods, 
Calls  the  roll  of  all  his  streams 
And  watery  multitudes : 

Torrent  cries  to  torrent, 

The  rapids  hail  the  fall; 
With  shouts  the  inland  freshets 
Gather  to  the  call. 


The  quotas  of  the  Nation, 
Like  the  water-shed  of  waves, 

Muster  into  union — 

Eastern  warriors,  Western  braves. 


The  Muster.  147 

Martial  strains  are  mingling, 

Though  distant  far  the  bands, 
And  the  wheeling  of  the  squadrons 

Is  like  surf  upon  the  sands. 

The  bladed  guns  are  gleaming — 

Drift  in  lengthened  trim, 
Files  on  files  for  hazy  miles — 

Nebulously  dim. 

O  Milky  Way  of  armies — 

Star  rising  after  star, 
New  banners  of  the  Commonwealths, 

And  eagles  of  the  War. 


The  Abrahamic  river 

To  sea-wide  fullness  fed, 
Pouring  from  the  thaw-lands 
By  the  God  of  floods  is  led : 

His  deep  enforcing  current 

The  streams  of  ocean  own, 

And  Europe's  marge  is  evened 

By  rills  from  Kansas  lone. 


A  urora-Borealis. 

Commemorative  of  the  Dissolution  of  Armies  at  the  Peace. 
(MAY,  1865.) 


WHAT  power  disbands  the  Northern  Lights 

After  their  steely  play? 
The  lonely  watcher  feels  an  awe 
Of  Nature's  sway, 

As  when  appearing, 
He  marked  their  flashed  uprearing 
In  the  cold  gloom — 

Retreatings  and  advancings, 
(Like  dallyings  of  doom), 
Transitions  and  enhancings, 
And  bloody  ray. 


The  phantom-host  has  faded  quite, 
Splendor  and  Terror  gone — 

Portent  or  promise — and  gives  way 
To  pale,  meek  Dawn  ; 


A  urora-Borealis.  149 

The  coming,  going, 
Alike  in  wonder  showing — 
Alike  the  God, 

Decreeing  and  commanding 
The  million  blades  that  glowed, 
The  muster  and  disbanding — 
Midnight  and  Morn. 


The  Released  Rebel  Prisoner? 
(JUNE,  1865.) 


ARMIES  he's  seen — the  herds  of  war, 
But  never  such  swarms  of  men 

As  now  in  the  Nineveh  of  the  North — 
How  mad  the  Rebellion  then! 


And  yet  but  dimly  he  divines 
The  depth  of  that  deceit, 

And  superstition  of  vast  pride 
Humbled  to  such  defeat. 


Seductive  shone  the  Chiefs  in  arms — 
His  steel  the  nearest  magnet  drew; 

Wreathed  with  its  kind,  the  Gulf-weed  drives — 
Tis  Nature's  wrong  they  rue. 


His  face  is  hidden  in  his  beard, 
But  his  heart  peers  out  at  eye — 


The  Released  Rebel  Prisoner.         151 

And  such  a  heart !  like  a  mountain-pool 
Where  no  man  passes  by. 


He  thinks  of  Hill — a  brave  soul  gone ; 

And  Ashby  dead  in  pale  disdain ; 
And  Stuart  with  the  Rupert-plume, 

Whose  blue  eye  never  shall  laugh  again. 


He  hears  the  drum;  he  sees  our  boys 
From  his  wasted  fields  return; 

Ladies  feast  them  on  strawberries, 
And  even  to  kiss  them  yearn. 


He  marks  them  bronzed,  in  soldier-trim, 

The  rifle  proudly  borne ; 
They  bear  it  for  an  heir-loom  home, 

And  he — disarmed — jail-worn. 


Home,  home — his  heart  is  full  of  it; 

But  home  he  never  shall  see, 
Even  should  he  stand  upon  the  spot : 

'Tis  gone ! — where  his  brothers  be. 


152          The  Released  Rebel  Prisoner. 

The  cypress-moss  from  tree  to  tree 
Hangs  in  his  Southern  land; 

As  wierd,  from  thought  to  thought  of  his 
Run  memories  hand  in  hand. 


And  so  he  lingers — lingers  on 
In  the  City  of  the  Foe— 

His  cousins  and  his  countrymen 
Who  see  him  listless  go. 


A  Grave  near  Petersburg,  Virginia!1 


HEAD-BOARD  and  foot-board  duly  placed — 
Grassed  is  the  mound  between ; 

Daniel  Drouth  is  the  slumberer's  name — 
Long  may  his  grave  be  green! 

Quick  was  his  way — a  flash  and  a  blow, 

Full  of  his  fire  was  he — 
A  fire  of  hell — 'tis  burnt  out  now — 

Green  may  his  grave  long  be ! 

May  his  grave  be  green,  though  he 

Was  a  rebel  of  iron  mould ; 
Many  a  true  heart — true  to  the  Cause, 

Through  the  blaze  of  his  wrath  lies  cold. 

May  his  grave  be  green — still  green 

While  happy  years  shall  run ; 
May  none  come  nigh  to  disinter 

The — Buried  Gun. 
G  2 


"'Formerly  a  Slave? 

An  idealized  Portrait,  by  E.  Vedder,  in  the  Spring  Exhibi 
tion  of  the  National  Academy,  1865. 


THE  sufferance  of  her  race  is  shown, 

And  retrospect  of  life, 
Which  now  too  late  deliverance  dawns  upon; 

Yet  is  she  not  at  strife. 


Her  children's  children  they  shall  know 
The  good  withheld  from  her; 

And  so  her  reverie  takes  prophetic  cheer- 
In  spirit  she  sees  the  stir 


Far  down  the  depth  of  thousand  years, 
And  marks  the  revel  shine ; 

Her  dusky  face  is  lit  with  sober  light, 
Sibylline,  yet  benign. 


The  Apparition. 
(A  Retrospect.) 


CONVULSIONS  came ;  and,  where  the  field 

Long  slept  in  pastoral  green, 
A  goblin-mountain  was  upheaved 
(Sure  the  scared  sense  was  all  deceived), 
Marl-glen  and  slag-ravine. 


The  unreserve  of  111  was  there, 

The  clinkers  in  her  last  retreat; 
But,  ere  the  eye  could  take  it  in, 
Or  mind  could  comprehension  win, 
It  sunk! — and  at  our  feet. 


So,  then,  Solidity's  a  crust — 

The  core  of  fire  below ; 
All  may  go  well  for  many  a  year, 
But  who  can  think  without  a  fear 
Of  horrors  that  happen  so  ? 


Magnanimity  Baffled. 


"SHARP  words  we  had  before  the  fight; 

But — now  the  fight  is  done — 
Look,  here's  my  hand,"  said  the  Victor  bold, 

"  Take  it — an  honest  one  ! 
What,  holding  back  ?     I  mean  you  well ; 

Though  worsted,  you  strove  stoutly,  man ; 
The  odds  were  great ;  I  honor  you ; 
Man  honors  man. 


"  Still  silent,  friend  ?  can  grudges  be  ? 

Yet  am  I  held  a  foe?— 
Turned  to  the  wall,  on  his  cot  he  lies — 

Never  I'll  leave  him  so ! 
Brave  one !  I  here  implore  your  hand ; 

Dumb  still?  all  fellowship  fled? 
Nay,  then,  I'll  have  this  stubborn  hand !" 
He  snatched  it — it  was  dead. 


On  the  Slain  Collegians^ 


YOUTH  is  the  time  when  hearts  are  large, 

And  stirring  wars 
Appeal  to  the  spirit  which  appeals  in  turn 

To  the  blade  it  draws. 
If  woman  incite,  and  duty  show 

(Though  made  the  mask  of  Cain), 
Or  whether  it  be  Truth's  sacred  cause, 

Who  can  aloof  remain 
That  shares  youth's  ardor,  uncooled  by  the  snow 

Of  wisdom  or  sordid  gain  ? 


The  liberal  arts  and  nurture  sweet 
Which  give  his  gentleness  to  man — 

Train  him  to  honor,  lend  him  grace 
Through  bright  examples  meet — 
That  culture  which  makes  never  wan 
With  underminings  deep,  but  holds 
The  surface  still,  its  fitting  place, 
And  so  gives  sunniness  to  the  face 


158  On  the  Slain  Collegians. 

And  bravery  to  the  heart;  what  troops 

Of  generous  boys  in  happiness  thus  bred — 
Saturnians  through  life's  Tempe  led, 

Went  from  the  North  and  came  from  the  South, 

With  golden  mottoes  in  the  mouth, 
To  lie  down  midway  on  a  bloody  bed. 


Woe  for  the  homes  of  the  North, 

And  woe  for  the  seats  of  the  South : 

All  who  felt  life's  spring  in  prime, 

And  were  swept  by  the  wind  of  their  place  and  time — 

All  lavish  hearts,  on  whichever  side, 
Of  birth  urbane  or  courage  high, 
Armed  them  for  the  stirring  wars — 
Armed  them — some  to  die. 
Apollo-like  in  pride, 
Each  would  slay  his  Python — caught 
The  maxims  in  his  temple  taught — 

Aflame  with  sympathies  whose  blaze 
Perforce  enwrapped  him — social  laws, 

Friendship  and  kin,  and  by-gone  days — 
Vows,  kisses — every  heart  unmoors, 
And  launches  into  the  seas  of  wars. 
What  could  they  else — North  or  South? 
Each  went  forth  with  blessings  given 


On  the  Slain  Collegians.  159 

By  priests  and  mothers  in  the  name  of  Heaven ; 

And  honor  in  both  was  chief. 
Warred  one  for  Right,  and  one  for  Wrong? 
So  be  itj  but  they  both  were  young — 
Each  grape  to  his  cluster  clung, 
All  their  elegies  are  sung. 


The  anguish  of  maternal  hearts 

Must  search  for  balm  divine; 
But  well  the  striplings  bore  their  fated  parts 

(The  heavens  all  parts  assign) — 
Never  felt  life's  care  or  cloy. 
Each  bloomed  and  died  an  unabated  Boy; 
Nor  dreamed  what  death  was — thought  it  mere 
Sliding  into  some  vernal  sphere. 
They  knew  the  joy,  but  leaped  the  grief, 
Like  plants  that  flower  ere  comes  the  leaf — 
Which  storms  lay  low  in  kindly  doom, 
And  kill  them  in  their  flush  of  bloom. 


America. 


I. 

WHERE  the  wings  of  a  sunny  Dome  expand 

I  saw  a  Banner  in  gladsome  air — 

Starry,  like  Berenice's  Hair — 

Afloat  in  broadened  bravery  there ; 

With  undulating  long-drawn  flow, 

As  rolled  Brazilian  billows  go 

Voluminously  o'er  the  Line. 

The  Land  reposed  in  peace  below; 

The  children  in  their  glee 
Were  folded  to  the  exulting  heart 

Of  young  Maternity. 

II. 

Later,  and  it  streamed  in  fight 

When  tempest  mingled  with  the  fray, 

And  over  the  spear-point  of  the  shaft 
I  saw  the  ambiguous  lightning  play. 

Valor  with  Valor  strove,  and  died: 

Fierce  was  Despair,  and  cruel  was  Pride ; 


America.  161 

And  the  lorn  Mother  speechless  stood, 
Pale  at  the  fury  of  her  brood. 

III. 

Yet  later,  and  the  silk  did  wind 

Her  fair  cold  form; 
Little  availed  the  shining  shroud, 

Though  ruddy  in  hue,  to  cheer  or  warm. 
A  watcher  looked  upon  her  low,  and  said — 
She  sleeps,  but  sleeps,  she  is  not  dead. 

But  in  that  sleep  contortion  showed 
The  terror  of  the  vision  there — 

A  silent  vision  unavowed, 
Revealing  earth's  foundation  bare, 

And  Gorgon  in  her  hidden  place. 
It  was  a  thing  of  fear  to  see 

So  foul  a  dream  upon  so  fair  a  face, 
And  the  dreamer  lying  in  that  starry  shroud. 

IV. 
But  from  the  trance  she  sudden  broke — 

The  trance,  or  death  into  promoted  life ; 
At  her  feet  a  shivered  yoke, 
And  in  her  aspect  turned  to  heaven 

No  trace  of  passion  or  of  strife — 


1 62  America. 

A  clear  calm  look.     It  spake'  of  pain, 
But  such  as  purifies  from  stain — 
Sharp  pangs  that  never  come  again — 

And  triumph  repressed  by  knowledge  meet, 
Power  dedicate,  and  hope  grown  wise, 

And  youth  matured  for  age's  seat — 
Law  on  her  brow  and  empire  in  her  eyes. 

So  she,  with  graver  air  and  lifted  flag; 
While  the  shadow,  chased  by  light, 
Fled  along  the  far-drawn  height, 

And  left  her  on  the  crag. 


VERSES 


INSCRIPTIVE  AND  MEMORIAL. 


On  the  Home  Guards 

who  perished  in  the  Defense  of  Lexington,  Missouri. 


THE  men  who  here  in  harness  died 
Fell  not  in  vain,  though  in  defeat. 
They  by  their  end  well  fortified 
The  Cause,  and  built  retreat 
(With  memory  of  their  valor  tried) 
For  emulous  hearts  in  many  an  after  fray — 
Hearts  sore  beset,  which  died  at  bay. 


Inscription 
for  Graves  at  Pea  Ridge,  Arkansas. 


LET  none  misgive  we  died  amiss 

When  here  we  strove  in  furious  fight: 
Furious  it  was ;  nathless  was  this 

Better  than  tranquil  plight, 
And  tame  surrender  of  the  Cause 
Hallowed  by  hearts  and  by  the  laws. 

We  here  who  warred  for  Man  and  Right, 
The  choice  of  warring  never  laid  with  us. 

There  we  were  ruled  by  the  traitor's  choice. 

Nor  long  we  stood  to  trim  and  poise, 
But  marched,  and  fell — victorious  ! 


The  Fortitude  of  the  North 
under  the  Disaster  of  the  Second  Manassas. 


THEY  take  no  shame  for  dark  defeat 

While  prizing  yet  each  victory  won, 
Who  fight  for  the  Right  through  all  retreat, 

Nor  pause  until  their  work  is  done. 
The  Cape-of-Storms  is  proof  to  every  throe ; 

Vainly  against  that  foreland  beat 
Wild  winds  aloft  and  wilder  waves  below : 

The  black  cliffs  gleam  through  rents  in  sleet 
When  the  livid  Antarctic  storm-clouds  glow. 


On  the  Men  of  Maine 
killed  in  the  Victory  of  Baton  Rouge,  Louisiana. 


AFAR  they  fell.     It  was  the  zone 

Of  fig  and  orange,  cane  and  lime 
(A  land  how  all  unlike  their  own, 
With  the  cold  pine-grove  overgrown), 

But  still  their  Country's  clime. 
And  there  in  youth  they  died  for  her — 

The  Volunteers, 
For  her  went  up  their  dying  prayers : 

So  vast  the  Nation,  yet  so  strong  the  tie. 
What  doubt  shall  come,  then,  to  deter 

The  Republic's  earnest  faith  and  courage  high. 


An  Epitaph. 


WHEN  Sunday  tidings  from  the  front 
Made  pale  the  priest  and  people, 

And  heavily  the  blessing  went, 

And  bells  were  dumb  in  the  steeple; 

The  Soldier's  widow  (summering  sweetly  here, 
In  shade  by  waving  beeches  lent) 
Felt  deep  at  heart  her  faith  content, 

And  priest  and  people  borrowed  of  her  cheer. 
H 


Inscription 
for  Marye's  Heights,  Fredericksburg. 


To  them  who  crossed  the  flood 
And  climbed  the  hill,  with  eyes 
Upon  .the  heavenly  flag  intent, 
And  through  the  deathful  tumult  went 
Even  unto  death :  to  them  this  Stone — 
Erect,  where  they  were  overthrown — 
Of  more  than  victory  the  monument. 


The  Mound  by  the  Lake. 


THE  grass  shall  never  forget  this  grave. 
When  homeward  footing  it  in  the  sun 

After  the  weary  ride  by  rail, 
The  stripling  soldiers  passed  her  door, 

Wounded  perchance,  or  wan  and  pale, 
She  left  her  household  work  undone — 
Duly  the  wayside  table  spread, 

With  evergreens  shaded,  to  regale 
Each  travel-spent  and  grateful  one. 
So  warm  her  heart — childless — unwed, 
Who  like  a  mother  comforted. 


On  the  Slain  at  Chickamauga. 


HAPPY  are  they  and  charmed  in  life 

Who  through  long  wars  arrive  unscarred 
At  peace.     To  such  the  wreath  be  given, 
If  they  unfalteringly  have  striven — 

In  honor,  as  in  limb,  unmarred. 
Let  cheerful  praise  be  rife, 

And  let  them  live  their  years  at  ease, 
Musing  on  brothers  who  victorious  died — 

Loved  mates  whose  memory  shall  ever  please. 

And  yet  mischance  is  honorable  too — 

Seeming  defeat  in  conflict  justified 
Whose  end  to  closing  eyes  is  hid  from  view. 
The  will,  that  never  can  relent — 
The  aim,  survivor  of  the  bafflement, 
Make  this  memorial  due. 


An  uninscribed  Monument 
on  one  of  the  Battle-fields  of  the  Wilderness. 


SILENCE  and  Solitude  may  hint 

(Whose  home  is  in  yon  piny  wood) 
What  I,  though  tableted,  could  never  tell — 
The  din  which  here  befell, 

And  striving  of  the  multitude. 
The  iron  cones   and  spheres  of  death 

Set  round  me  in  their  rust, 

These,  too,  if  just, 
Shall  speak  with  more  than  animated  breath. 

Thou  who  beholdest,  if  thy  thought, 
Not  narrowed  down  to  personal  cheer, 
Take  in  the  import  of  the  quiet  here — 

The  after-quiet — the  calm  full  fraught; 
Thou  too  wilt  silent  stand — 
Silent  as  I,  and  lonesome  as  the  land. 


On  Shermans  Men 
who  fell  in  the  Assault  of  Kenesaw  Mountain,  Georgia. 


THEY  said  that  Fame  her  clarion  dropped 
Because  great  deeds  were  done  no  more — 

That  even  Duty  knew  no  shining  ends, 

And  Glory — 'twas  a  fallen  star ! 

But  battle  can  heroes  and  bards  restore. 
Nay,  look  at  Kenesaw : 

Perils  the  mailed  ones  never  knew 

Are  lightly  braved  by  the  ragged  coats  of  blue, 

And  gentler  hearts  are  bared  to  deadlier  war. 


On  the  Grave 

of  a  young  Cavalry  Officer  killed  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia. 


BEAUTY  and  youth,  with  manners  sweet,  and  friends — 
Gold,  yet  a  mind  not  unenriched  had  he 

Whom  here  low  violets  veil  from  eyes. 
But  all  these  gifts  transcended  be : 

His  happier  fortune  in  this  mound  you  see. 


A  Requiem 
for  Soldiers  lost  in  Ocean  Transports. 


WHEN,  after  storms  that  woodlands  rue, 

To  valleys  comes  atoning  dawn, 
The  robins  blithe  their  orchard-sports  renew; 

And  meadow-larks,  no  more  withdrawn, 
Caroling  fly  in  the  languid  blue  ; 
The  while,  from  many  a  hid  recess, 
Alert  to  partake  the  blessedness, 
The  pouring  mites  their  airy  dance  pursue. 

So,  after  ocean's  ghastly  gales, 
When  laughing  light  of  hoyden  morning  breaks, 
Every  finny  hider  wakes — 

From  vaults  profound  swims  up  with  glittering  scales ; 

Through  the  delightsome  sea  he  sails, 
With  shoals  of  shining  tiny  things 
Frolic  on  every  wave  that  flings 

Against  the  prow  its  showery  spray; 
All  creatures  joying  in  the  morn, 
Save  them  forever  from  joyance  torn, 

Whose  bark  was  lost  where  now  the  dolphins  play; 


A  Requiem.  177 

Save  them  that  by  the  fabled  shore, 

Down  the  pale  stream  are  washed  away, 

Far   to  the  reef  of  bones  are  borne ; 
And  never  revisits  them  the  light, 

Nor  sight  of  long-sought  land  and  pilot  more ; 
Nor  heed  they  now  the  lone  bird's  flight 

Round  the  lone  spar  where  mid-sea  surges  pour. 
H  2 


On  a  natural  Monument 
in  a  field  of  Georgia? 


No  trophy  this — a  Stone  unhewn, 

And  stands  where  here  the  field  immures 
The  nameless  brave  whose  palms  are  won. 
Outcast  they  sleep ;  yet  fame  is  nigh — 

Pure  fame  of  deeds,  not  doers ; 
Nor  deeds  of  men  who  bleeding  die 

In  cheer  of  hymns  that  round  them  float : 
In  happy  dreams  such  close  the  eye. 
But  withering  famine  slowly  wore, 

And  slowly  fell  disease  did  gloat. 
Even  Nature's  self  did  aid  deny; 
They  choked  in  horror  the  pensive  sigh. 

Yea,  off  from  home  sad  Memory  bore 
(Though  anguished  Yearning  heaved  that  way), 
Lest  wreck  of  reason  might  befall. 

As  men  in  gales  shun  the  lee  shore, 
Though  there  the  homestead  be,  and  call, 
And  thitherward  winds  and  waters  sway — 
As  such  lorn  mariners,  so  fared  they. 


On  a  natural  Monument.  179 

But  naught  shall  now  their  peace  molest. 

Their  fame  is  this :  they  did  endure — 
Endure,  when  fortitude  was  vain 
To  kindle  any  approving  strain 
Which  they  might  hear.     To  these  who  rest, 

This  healing  sleep  alone  was  sure. 


Commemorative  of  a  Naval  Victory. 


SAILORS  there  are  of  gentlest  breed, 

Yet  strong,  like  every  goodly  thing; 
The  discipline  of  arms  refines, 

And  the  wave  gives  tempering. 

The  damasked  blade  its  beam  can  fling ; 
It  lends  the  last  grave  grace  : 
The  hawk,  the  hound,  and  sworded  nobleman 

In  Titian's  picture  for  a  king, 
Are  of  hunter  or  warrior  race. 

In  social  halls  a  favored  guest 
In  years  that  follow  victory  won, 

How  sweet  to  feel  your  festal  fame 
In  woman's  glance  instinctive  thrown : 
Repose  is  yours — your  deed  is  known, 

It  musks  the  amber  wine; 

It  lives,  and  sheds  a  light  from  storied  days 
Rich  as  October  sunsets  brown, 

Which  make  the  barren  place  to  shine. 


Commemorative  of  a  Naval  Victory.  181 

But  seldom  the  laurel  wreath  is  seen 

Unmixed  with  pensive  pansies  dark; 
There's  a  light  and  a  shadow  on  every  man 

Who  at  last  attains  his  lifted  mark — 

Nursing  through  night  the  ethereal  spark. 
Elate  he  never  can  be; 
He  feels  that  spirits  which  glad  had  hailed  his  worth, 

Sleep  in  oblivion. — The  shark 
Glides  white  through  the  phosphorus  sea. 


Presentation  to  the  Authorities, 

by  Privates,  of  Colors  captured  in  Battles  ending  in  the 
Surrender  of  Lee. 


THESE  flags  of  armies  overthrown — 
Flags  fallen  beneath  the  sovereign  one 
In  end  foredoomed  which  closes  war ; 
We  here,  the  captors,  lay  before 

The  altar  which  of  right  claims  all — 
Our  Country.     And  as  freely  we, 

Revering  ever  her  sacred  call, 
Could  lay  our  lives  down — though  life  be 
Thrice  loved  and  precious  to  the  sense 
Of  such  as  reap  the  recompense 

Of  life  imperiled  for  just  cause — 
Imperiled,  and  yet  preserved; 
While  comrades,  whom  Duty  as  strongly  nerved, 
Whose  wives  were  all  as  dear,  lie  low. 
But  these  flags  given,  glad  we  go 

To  waiting  homes  with  vindicated  laws. 


The  Returned  Volunteer  to  his  Rifle. 


OVER  this  hearth — my  father's  seat — 

Repose,  to  patriot-memory  dear, 
Thou  tried  companion,  whom  at  last  I  greet 

By  steepy  banks  of  Hudson  here. 
How  oft  I  told  thee  of  this  scene — 
The  Highlands  blue — the  river's  narrowing  sheen. 
Little  at  Gettysburg  we  thought 
To  find  such  haven;  but  God  kept  it  green. 
Long  rest !  with  belt,  and  bayonet,  and  canteen. 


THE  SCOUT  TOWARD  ALDIE. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 


THE  cavalry-camp  lies  on  the  slope 

Of  what  was  late  a  vernal  hill, 
But  now  like  a  pavement  bare — 
An  outpost  in  the  perilous  wilds 
Which  ever  are  lone  and  still; 
But  Mosby's  men  are  there — 
Of  Mosby  best  beware. 


Great  trees  the  troopers  felled,  and  leaned 

In  antlered  walls  about  their  tents ; 
Strict  watch  they  kept;  'twas  Hark!  and  Mark! 
Unarmed  none  cared  to  stir  abroad 
For  berries  beyond  their  forest-fence  : 
As  glides  in  seas  the  shark, 
Rides  Mosby  through  green  dark. 


1 88  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

All  spake  of  him,  but  few  had  seen 

Except  the  maimed  ones  or  the  low ; 
Yet  rumor  made  him  every  thing — 
A  farmer — woodman — refugee — 

The  man  who  crossed  the  field  but  now; 
A  spell  about  his  life  did  cling — 
Who  to  the  ground  shall  Mosby  bring? 


The  morning-bugles  lonely  play, 

Lonely  the  evening-bugle  calls — 
Unanswered  voices  in  the  wild; 
The  settled  hush  of  birds  in  nest 

Becharms,  and  all  the  wood  enthralls  : 
Memory's  self  is  so  beguiled 
That  Mosby  seems  a  satyr's  child. 


They  lived  as  in  the  Eerie  Land — 

The  fire-flies  showed  with  fairy  gleam  ; 
And  yet  from  pine-tops  one  might  ken 
The  Capitol  Dome — hazy — sublime — 
A  vision  breaking  on  a  dream : 

So  strange  it  was  that  Mosby 's  men 

Should  dare  to  prowl  where  the  Dome  was  seen. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  189 

A  scout  toward  Aldie  broke  the  spell. — 

The  Leader  lies  before  his  tent 
Gazing  at  heaven's  all-cheering  lamp 
Through  blandness  of  a  morning  rare ; 
His  thoughts  on  bitter-sweets  are  bent : 
His  sunny  bride  is  in  the  camp — 
But  Mosby — graves  are  beds  of  damp ! 


The  trumpet  calls;  he  goes  within; 

But  none  the  prayer  and  sob  may  know : 
Her  hero  he,  but  bridegroom  too. 
Ah,  love  in  a  tent  is  a  queenly  thing, 
And  fame,  be  sure,  refines  the  vow; 

But  fame  fond  wives  have  lived  to  rue, 
And  Mosby's  men  fell  deeds  can  do. 


Tan-tara!  tan-tara!  tan-tara! 

Mounted  and  armed  he  sits  a  king; 
For  pride  she  smiles  if  now  she  peep — 
Elate  he  rides  at  the  head  of  his  men ; 

He  is  young,  and  command  is  a  boyish  thing : 
They  file  out  into  the  forest  deep — 
Do  Mosby  and  his  rangers  sleep? 


190  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

The  sun  is  gold,  and  the  world  is  green, 

Opal  the  vapors  of  morning  roll ; 
The  champing  horses  lightly  prance — 
Full  of  caprice,  and  the  riders  too 
Curving  in  many  a  caricole. 

But  marshaled  soon,  by  fours  advance — 
Mosby  had  checked  that  airy  dance. 


By  the  hospital-tent  the  cripples  stand — 

Bandage,  and  crutch,  and  cane,  and  sling, 
And  palely  eye  the  brave  array; 
The  froth  of  the  cup  is  gone  for  them 

(Caw !  caw !  the  crows  through  the  blueness  wing) 
Yet  these  were  late  as  bold,  as  gay; 
But  Mosby — a  clip,  and  grass  is  hay. 


How  strong  they  feel  on  their  horses  free, 

Tingles  the  tendoned  thigh  with  life ; 
Their  cavalry-jackets  make  boys  of  all — 
With  golden  breasts  like  the  oriole ; 
The  chat,  the  jest,  and  laugh  are  rife. 

But  word  is  passed  from  the  front — a  call 
For  order;  the  wood  is  Mosby's  hall. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  191 

To  which  behest  one  rider  sly 

(Spurred,  but  unarmed)  gave  little  heed — 
Of  dexterous  fun  not  slow  or  spare, 
He  teased  his  neighbors  of  touchy  mood, 
Into  plungings  he  pricked  his  steed : 

A  black-eyed  man  on  a  coal-black  mare, 
Alive  as  Mosby  in  mountain  air. 


His  limbs  were  long,  and  large,  and  round; 
He  whispered,  winked — did  all  but  shout : 
A  healthy  man  for  the  sick  to  view; 
The  taste  in  his  mouth  was  sweet  at  morn; 
Little  of  care  he  cared  about. 

And  yet  of  pains  and  pangs  he  knew- 
In  others,  maimed  by  Mosby's  crew. 


The  Hospital  Steward — even  he 
(Sacrecl  in  person  as  a  priest), 
And  on  his  coat-sleeve  broidered  nice 
Wore  the  caduceus,  black  and  green. 

No  wonder  he  sat  so  light  on  his  beast; 
This  cheery  man  in  suit  of  price 
Not  even  Mosby  dared  to  slice. 


1 92  TJie  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

They  pass  the  picket  by  the  pine 

And  hollow  log — a  lonesome  place; 
His  horse  adroop, .  and  pistol  clean  ; 
'Tis  cocked — kept  leveled  toward  the  wood ; 
Strained  vigilance  ages  his  childish  face. 
Since  midnight  has  that  stripling  been 
Peering  for  Mosby  through  the  green. 


Splashing  they  cross  the  freshet-flood, 

And  up  the  muddy  bank  they  strain; 
A  horse  at  a  spectral  white-ash  shies — 
One  of  the  span  of  the  ambulance, 

Black  as  a  hearse.     They  give  the  rein : 
Silent  speed  on  a  scout  were  wise, 
Could  cunning  baffle  Mosby's  spies. 


Rumor  had  come  that  a  band  was  lodged 

In  green  retreats  of  hills  that  peer 
By  Aldie  (famed  for  the  swordless  chargev). 
Much  store  they'd  heaped  of  captured  arms 
And,  peradventure,  pilfered  cheer ; 

For  Mosby's  lads  oft  hearts  enlarge 
In  revelry  by  some  gorge's  marge. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  193 

"Don't  let  your  sabres  rattle  and  ring; 

To  his  oat-bag  let  each  man  give  heed — 
There  now,  that  fellow's  bag's  untied, 
Sowing  the  road  with  the  precious  grain. 
Your  carbines  swing  at  hand — you  need ! 

Look  to  yourselves,  and  your  nags  beside, 
Men  who  after  Mosby  ride." 


Picked  lads  and  keen  went  sharp  before — 
A  guard,  though  scarce  against  surprise; 
And  rearmost  rode  an  answering  troop, 
But  flankers  none  to  right  or  left. 
No  bugle  peals,  no  pennon  flies  : 

Silent  they  sweep,  and  fain  would  swoop 
On  Mosby  with  an  Indian  whoop. 


On,  right  on  through  the  forest  land, 

Nor  man,  nor  maid,  nor  child  was  seen — 
Not  even  a  dog.     The  air  was  still; 
The  blackened  hut  they  turned  to  see, 
And  spied  charred  benches  on  the  green; 
A  squirrel  sprang  from  the  rotting  mill 
Whence  Mosby  sallied  late,  brave  blood  to  spill. 
I 


194  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

By  worn-out  fields  they  cantered  on — 

Drear  fields  amid  the  woodlands  wide; 
By  cross-roads  of  some  olden  time, 
In  which  grew  groves ;  by  gate-stones  down — 
Grassed  ruins  of  secluded  pride : 

A  strange  lone  land,  long  past  the  prime, 
Fit  land  for  Mosby  or  for  crime. 


The  brook  in  the  dell  they  pass.     One  peers 

Between  the  leaves  :  "  Ay,  there's  the  place — 
There,  on  the  oozy  ledge — 'twas  there 
We  found  the  body  (Blake's,  you  know) ; 
Such  whirlings,  gurglings  round  the  face — 
Shot  drinking !     Well,  in  war  all's  fair — 
So  Mosby  says.     The  bough — take  care!" 


Hard  by,  a  chapel.     Flower-pot  mould 

Danked  and  decayed  the  shaded  roof; 
The  porch  was  punk ;  the  clapboards  spanned 
With  ruffled  lichens  gray  or  green; 
Red  coral-moss  was  not  aloof; 

And  mid  dry  leaves  green  dead-man's-hancl 
Groped  toward  that  chapel  in  Mosby-land. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  195 

They  leave  the  road  and  take  the  wood, 
And  mark  the  trace  of  ridges  there — 
A  wood  where  once  had  slept  the  farm — 
A  wood  where  once  tobacco  grew 
Drowsily  in  the  hazy  air, 

And  wrought  in  all  kind  things  a  calm — 
Such  influence,  Mosby!  bids  disarm. 


To  ease  even  yet  the  place  did  woo — 
To  ease  which  pines  unstirring  share, 
For  ease  the  weary  horses  sighed: 
Halting,  and  slackening  girths,  they  feed, 
Their  pipes  they  light,  they  loiter  there; 
Then  up,  and  urging  still  the  Guide, 
On,  and  after  Mosby  ride. 


This  Guide  in  frowzy  coat  of  brown, 

And  beard  of  ancient  growth  and  mould, 
Bestrode  a  bony  steed  and  strong, 
As  suited  well  with  bulk  he  bore — 
A  wheezy  man  with  depth  of  hold 

Who  jouncing  went.     A  staff  he  swung — 
A  wight  whom  Mosby's  wasp  had  stung. 


196  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

Burnt  out  and  homeless — hunted  long! 

That  wheeze  he  caught  in  autumn-wood 
Crouching  (a  fat  man)  for  his  life, 
And  spied  his  lean  son  'mong  the  crew 
That  probed  the  covert.     Ah!  black  blood 
Was  his  'gainst  even  child  and  wife — 
Fast  friends  to  Mosby.     Such  the  strife. 


A  lad,  unhorsed  by  sliding  girths, 

Strains  hard  to  readjust  his  seat 
Ere  the  main  body  show  the  gap 
'Twixt  them  and  the  rear-guard;  scrub-oaks  near 
He  sidelong  eyes,  while  hands  move  fleet; 

Then  mounts  and  spurs.     One  drops  his  cap — 
"Let  Mosby  find!"  nor  heeds  mishap. 


A  gable  time-stained  peeps  through  trees : 

"You  rriind  the  fight  in  the  haunted  house? 
That's  it ;  we  clenched  them  in  the  room — 
An  ambuscade  of  ghosts,  we  thought, 
But  proved  sly  rebels  on  a  bouse! 

Luke  lies  in  the  yard."     The  chimneys  loom : 
Some  muse  on  Mosby — some  on  doom. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  197 

Less  nimbly  now  through  brakes  they  wind, 

And  ford  wild  creeks  where  men  have  drowned; 
They  skirt  the  pool,  avoid  the  fen, 
And  so  till  night,  when  down  they  lie, 

Their  steeds  still  saddled,  in  wooded  ground : 
Rein  in  hand  they  slumber  then, 
Dreaming  of  Mosby's  cedarn  den. 


But  Colonel  and  Major  friendly  sat 

Where  boughs  deformed  low  made  a  seat. 
The  Young  Man  talked  (all  sworded  and  spurred) 
Of  the  partisan's  blade  he  longed  to  win, 
And  frays  in  which  he  meant  to  beat. 

The  grizzled  Major  smoked,  and  heard  : 
"But  what's  that— Mosby?"     "No,  a  bird." 


A  contrast  here  like  sire  and  son, 

Hope  and  Experience  sage  did  meet; 
The  Youth  was  brave,  the  Senior  too; 
But  through  the  Seven  Days  one  had  served, 
And  gasped  with  the  rear-guard  in  retreat: 

So  he  smoked  and  smoked,  and  the  wreath  he 

blew — 
"Any  sure  news  of  Mosby's  crew?" 


198  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

He  smoked  and  smoked,  eying  the  while 

A  huge  tree  hydra-like  in  growth — 
Moon-tinged — with  crook'd  boughs  rent  or  lopped — 
Itself  a  haggard  forest     "  Come  !" 

The  Colonel  cried,  "  to  talk  you're  loath ; 
D'ye  hear?    I  say  he  must  be  stopped, 
This  Mosby — caged,  and  hair  close  cropped." 


"  Of  course ;  but  what's  that  dangling  there  ?" 

"Where?"     "From  the  tree — that  gallows-bough/' 
"A  bit  of  frayed  bark,  is  it  not?" 
"  Ay — or  a  rope  ;  did  we  hang  last  ? — 
Don't  like  my  neckerchief  any  how;" 
He  loosened  it :  "  O  ay,  we'll  stop 
This  Mosby — but  that  vile  jerk  and  drop  !w 


By  peep  of  light  they  feed  and  ride, 

Gaining  a  grove's  green  edge  at  morn, 
And  mark  the  Aldie  hills  uprear 
And  five  gigantic  horsemen  carved 
Clear-cut  against  the  sky  withdrawn ; 
Are  more  behind?  an  open  snare? 
Or  Mosby's  men  but  watchmen  there? 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  199 

The  ravaged  land  was  miles  behind, 

And  Loudon  spread  her  landscape  rare; 
Orchards  in  pleasant  lowlands  stood, 
Cows  were  feeding,  a  cock  loud  crew, 
But  not  a  friend  at  need  was  there ; 
The  valley-folk  were  only  good 
To  Mosby  and  his  wandering  brood. 


What  best  to  do?  what  mean  yon  men? 

Colonel  and  Guide  their  minds  compare ; 
Be  sure  some  looked  their  Leader  through; 
Dismounted,  on  his  sword  he  leaned 
As  one  who  feigns  an  easy  air; 

And  yet  perplexed  he  was  they  knew- 
Perplexed  by  Mosby's  mountain-crew. 


The  Major  hemmed  as  he  would  speak, 
But  checked  himself,  and  left  the  ring 
Of  cavalrymen  about  their  Chief — 
Young  courtiers  mute  who  paid  their  court 
By  looking  with  confidence  on  their  king; 
They  knew  him  brave,  foresaw  no  grief — 
But  Mosby — the  time  to  think  is  brief. 


2OO  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

The  Surgeon  (sashed  in  sacred  green) 

Was  glad  'twas  not  for  him  to  say 
What  next  should  be ;  if  a  trooper  bleeds, 
Why  he  will  do  his  best,  as  wont, 

And  his  partner  in  black  will  aid  and  pray; 
But  judgment  bides  with  him  who  leads, 
And  Mosby  many  a  problem  breeds. 


This  Surgeon  was  the  kindliest  man 

That  ever  a  callous  trade  professed ; 
He  felt  for  him,  that  Leader  young, 
And  offered  medicine  from  his  flask  : 
The  Colonel  took  it  with  marvelous  zest. 

For  such  fine  medicine  good  and  strong, 
Oft  Mosby  and  his  foresters  long. 


A  charm  of  proof.     "  Ho,  Major,  come — 

Pounce  on  yon  men !     Take  half  your  troop, 
Through  the  thickets  wind — pray  speedy  be — 
And  gain  their  rear.     And,  Captain  Morn, 
Picket  these  roads — all  travelers  stop; 

The  rest  to  the  edge  of  this  crest  with  me, 
That  Mosby  and  his  scouts  may  see." 


The  Scout  toward  A  Idle.  201 

Commanded  and  done.     Ere  the  sun  stood  steep, 

Back  came  the  Blues,  with  a  troop  of  Grays, 
Ten  riding  double — luckless  ten! — 
Five  horses  gone,  and  looped  hats  lost, 
And  love-locks  dancing  in  a  maze — 

Certes,  but  sophomores  from  the  glen 
Of  Mosby — not  his  veteran  men. 


"Colonel,"  said  the  Major,  touching  his  cap, 
"We've  had  our  ride,  and  here  they  are." 
"  Well  done !  how  many  found  you  there  ?" 
"As  many  as  I  bring  you  here." 

"And  no  one  hurt?"     "There'll  be  no  scar- 
One  fool  was  battered."     "Find  their  lair?" 
"Why,  Mosby's  brood  camp  every  where." 


He  sighed,  and  slid  down  from  his  horse, 

And  limping  went  to  a  spring-head  nigh. 
"Why,  bless  me,  Major,  not  hurt,  I  hope?" 
"Battered  my  knee  against  a  bar 

When  the  rush  was  made ;  all  right  by-and-by. — 
Halloa !  they  gave  you  too  much  rope — 
Go  back  to  Mosby,  eh?  elope?" 

12 


2O2  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

Just  by  the  low-hanging  skirt  of  wood 

The  guard,  remiss,  had  given  a  chance 
For  a  sudden  sally  into  the  cover — 
But  foiled  the  intent,  nor  fired  a  shot, 
Though  the  issue  was  a  deadly  trance; 

For,  hurled  'gainst  an  oak  that  humped  low  over, 
Mosby's  man  fell,  pale  as  a  lover. 


They  pulled  some  grass  his  head  to  ease 

(Lined  with  blue  shreds  a  ground-nest  stirred). 
The  Surgeon  came — "Here's  a  to-do!" 
"Ah!"  cried  the  Major,  darting  a  glance, 

"This  fellow's  the  one  that  fired  and  spurred 
Down  hill,  but  met  reserves  below — 
My  boys,  not  Mosby's — so  we  go  !" 


The  Surgeon—bluff,  red,  goodly  man — 
Kneeled  by  the  hurt  one;  like  a  bee 
He  toiled.     The  pale  young  Chaplain  too — 
(Who  went  to  the  wars  for  cure  of  souls, 
And  his  own  student-ailments) — he 
Bent  over  likewise ;  spite  the  two, 
Mosby's  poor  man  more  pallid  grew. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  203 

Meanwhile  the  mounted  captives  near 

Jested ;  and  yet  they  anxious  showed ; 
Virginians ;  some  of  family-pride, 
And  young,  and  full  of  fire,  and  fine 
In  open  feature  and  cheek  that  glowed ; 

And  here  thralled  vagabonds  now  they  ride — 
But  list !  one  speaks  for  Mosby's  side. 


"Why,  three  to  one — your  horses  strong — 

Revolvers,  rifles,  and  a  surprise — 
Surrender  we  account  no  shame ! 
We  live,  are  gay,  and  life  is  hope  ; 
We'll  fight  again  when  fight  is  wise. 

There  are  plenty  more  from  where  we  came ; 
But  go  find  Mosby — start  the  game !" 


Yet  one  there  was  who  looked  but  glum; 

In  middle-age,  a  father  he, 
And  this  his  first  experience  too  : 
"They  shot  at  my  heart  when  my  hands  were  up— 
This  fighting's  crazy  work,  I  see !" 

But  noon  is  high;  what  next  to  do? 

The  woods  are  mute,  and  Mosby  is  the  foe. 


2O4  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

"  Save  what  we've  got,"  the  Major  said ; 
"  Bad  plan  to  make  a  scout  too  long  ; 
The  tide  may  turn,  and  drag  them  back, 
And  more  beside.     These  rides  I've  been, 
And  every  time  a  mine  was  sprung. 

To  rescue,  mind,  they  won't  be  slack — 
Look  out  for  Mosby's  rifle-crack." 


"  We'll  welcome  it !  give  crack  for  crack ! 

Peril,  old  lad,  is  what  I  seek." 
"  O  then,  there's  plenty  to  be  had — 
By  all  means  on,  and  have  our  fill !" 

With  that,  grotesque,  he  writhed  his  neck, 
Showing  a  scar  by  buck-shot  made — 
Kind  Mosby's  Christmas  gift,  he  said. 


"  But,  Colonel,  my  prisoners — let  a  guard 
Make  sure  of  them,  and  lead  to  camp. 
That  done,  we're  free  for  a  dark-room  fight 
If  so  you  say."    The  other  laughed  \ 
"Trust  me,  Major,  nor  throw  a  damp. 
But  first  to  try  a  little  sleight — 
Sure  news  of  Mosby  would  suit  me  quite. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  205 

Herewith  he  turned — "  Reb,  have  a  dram  ?" 
Holding  the  Surgeon's  flask  with  a  smile 
To  a  young  scapegrace  from  the  glen. 
"  O  yes !"  he  eagerly  replied, 

"  And  thank  you,  Colonel,  but — any  guile  ? 
For  if  you  think  we'll  blab — why,  then 
You  don't  know  Mosby  or  his  men." 


The  Leader's  genial  air  relaxed. 

"Best  give  it  up,"  a  whisperer  said. 
"  By  heaven,  I'll  range  their  rebel  den !" 
"They'll  treat  you  well,"  the  captive  cried; 
"  They're  all  like  us — handsome — well  bred  : 
In  wood  or  town,  with  sword  or  pen, 
Polite  is  Mosby,  bland  his  men." 


"  Where  were  you,  lads,  last  night  ? — come,  tell !" 

"We? — at  a  wedding  in  the  Vale — 
The  bridegroom  our  comrade ;  by  his  side 
Belisent,  my  cousin — O,  so  proud 

Of  her  young  love  with  old  wounds  pale — 
A  Virginian  girl!     God  bless  her  pride — 
Of  a  crippled  Mosby-man  the  bride !" 


206  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

"Four  walls  shall  mend  that  saucy  mood, 

And  moping  prisons  tame  him  down," 
Said  Captain  Cloud.     "God  help  that  day," 
Cried  Captain  Morn,  "and  he  so  young. 
But  hark,  he  sings — a  madcap  one !" 
"  O  we  multiply  merrily  in  the  May, 
The  birds  and  Mosby's  men,  they  say  /" 


While  echoes  ran,  a  wagon  old, 

Under  stout  guard  of  Corporal  Chew 
Came  up ;  a  lame  horse,  dingy  white, 
With  clouted  harness ;  ropes  in  hand, 

Cringed  the  humped  driver,  black  in  hue ; 
By  him  (for  Mosby's  band  a  sight) 
A  sister-rebel  sat,  her  veil  held  tight. 


"I  picked  them  up,"  the  Corporal  said, 

"Crunching  their  way  over  stick  and  root, 
Through  yonder  wood.     The  man  here — Cuff — 
Says  they  are  going  to  Leesburg  town." 
The  Colonel's  eye  took  in  the  group; 

The  veiled  one's  hand  he  spied — enough! 
Not  Mosby's.     Spite  the  gown's  poor  stuff, 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  207 

Off  went  his  hat :  "  Lady,  fear  not  j 

We  soldiers  do  what  we  deplore — 
I  must  detain  you  till  we  march." 
The  stranger  nodded.     Nettled  now, 
He  grew  politer  than  before : — 

"  Tis  Mosby's  fault,  this  halt  and  search :" 
The  lady  stiffened  in  her  starch. 


"My  duty,  madam,  bids  me  now 

Ask  what  may  seem  a  little  rude . 
Pardon — that  veil— withdraw  it,  please 
(Corporal !  make  every  man  fall  back) ; 
Pray,  now,  I  do  but  what  I  should ; 

Bethink  you,  'tis  in  masks  like  these 
That  Mosby  haunts  the  villages." 


Slowly  the  stranger  drew  her  veil, 

And  looked  the  Soldier  in  the  eye — 
A  glance  of  mingled  foul  and  fair  j 
Sad  patience  in  a  proud  disdain, 
And  more  than  quietude.     A  sigh 
She  heaved,  as  if  all  unaware, 
And  far  seemed  Mosby  from  her  care. 


208  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

She  came  from  Yewton  Place,  her  home, 

So  ravaged  by  the  war's  wild  play — 
Campings,  and  foragings,  and  fires — 
That  now  she  sought  an  aunt's  abode. 
Her  kinsmen?  *In  Lee's  army,  they. 

The  black?    A  servant,  late  her  sire's. 
And  Mosby?    Vainly  he  inquires. 


He  gazed,  and  sad  she  met  his  eye ; 

"In  the  wood  yonder  were  you  lost?" 
No  \  at  the  forks  they  left  the  road 
Because  of  hoof-prints  (thick  they  were — 
Thick  as  the  words  in  notes  thrice  crossed), 
And  fearful,  made  that  episode. 
In  fear  of  Mosby?    None  she  showed. 


Her  poor  attire  again  he  scanned : 

"Lady,  once  more;  I  grieve  to  jar 
On  all  sweet  usage,  but  must  plead 
To  have  what  peeps  there  from  your  dress; 
That  letter — 'tis  justly  prize  of  war." 

She  started — gave  it — she  rriust  need. 
"Tis  not  from  Mosby?     May  I  read?" 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  209 

And  straight  such  matter  he  perused 

That  with  the  Guide  he  went  apart. 
The  Hospital  Steward's  turn  began : 
"  Must  squeeze  this  darkey ;  every  tap 
Of  knowledge  we  are  bound  to  start." 
"  Garry,"  she  said,  "  tell  all  you  can 
Of  Colonel  Mosby — that  brave  man." 


"  Dun  know  much,  sare ;  and  missis  here 

Know  less  dan  me.     But  dis  I  know — " 
"Well,  what?"     "I  dun  know  what  I  know." 
"  A  knowing  answer !"     The  hump-back  coughed, 
Rubbing  his  yellowish  wool  like  tow. 

"Come — Mosby — tell!"    "O  dun  look  so! 
My  gal  nursed  missis — let  we  go." 


"Go  where?"  demanded  Captain  Cloud; 

"  Back  into  bondage  ?     Man,  you're  free  !" 
"Well,  let  we  free!"     The  Captain's  brow 
Lowered ;  the  Colonel  came — had  heard  : 
"Pooh!  pooh!  his  simple  heart  I  see — 
A  faithful  servant. — Lady"  (a  bow), 
"Mosby's  abroad — with  us  you'll  go. 


2io  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

"  Guard !  look  to  your  prisoners ;  back  to  camp ! 

The  man  in  the  grass — can  he  mount  and  away? 
Why,  how  he  groans  !"     "  Bad  inward  bruise — 
Might  lug  him  along  in  the  ambulance." 
"Coals  to  Newcastle!  let  him  stay. 

Boots  and  saddles ! — our  pains  we  lose, 
Nor  care  I  if  Mosby  hear  the  news !" 


But  word  was  sent  to  a  house  at  hand, 

And  a  flask  was  left  by  the  hurt  one's  side. 
They  seized  in  that  same  house  a  man, 
Neutral  by  day,  by  night  a  foe — 

So  charged  his  neighbor  late,  the  Guide. 
A  grudge  ?     Hate  will  do  what  it  can ; 
Along  he  went  for  a  Mosby-man. 


No  secrets  now ;  the  bugle  calls ; 

The  open  road  they  take,  nor  shun 
The  hill;  retrace  the  weary  way. 
But  one  there  was  who  whispered  low, 
"  This  is  a  feint — we'll  back  anon  ; 

Young  Hair-Brains  don't  retreat,  they  say; 
A  brush  with  Mosby  is  the  play!" 


The  Scout  toward  A  Idle.  211 

They  rode  till  eve.     Then  on  a  farm 

That  lay  along  a  hill-side  green, 
Bivouacked.     Fires  were  made,  and  then 
Coffee  was  boiled;  a  cow  was  coaxed 
And  killed,  and  savory  roasts  were  seen ; 
Anci  under  the  lee  of  a  cattle-pen 
The  guard  supped  freely  with  Mosby's  men. 


The  ball  was  bandied  to  and  fro ; 

Hits  were  given  and  hits  were  met: 
"  Chickamauga,  Feds — take  off  your  hat  1" 
"  But  the  Fight  in  the  Clouds  repaid  you,  Rebs !" 
"Forgotten  about  Manassas  yet?" 

Chatting  and  chaffing,  and  tit  for  tat, 
Mosby's  clan  with  the  troopers  sat. 


"  Here  comes  the  moon !"  a  captive  cried ; 

"  A  song  !  what  say  ?  Archy,  my  lad !" 
Hailing  the  still  one  of  the  clan 
(A  boyish  face  with  girlish  hair), 

"Give  us  that  thing  poor  Pansy  made 

Last  year."     He  brightened,  and  began ; 
And  this  was  the  song  of  Mosby's  man : 


212  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

Spring  is  come;  she  shows  her  pass — 

Wild  violets  cool! 
South  of  woods  a  small  close  grass — 

A  vernal  wool! 
Leaves  are  dbud  on  the  sassafras — 

They'll  soon  be  full: 
Blessings  on  the  friendly  screen — 
Pm  for.  the  South  !  says  the  leafage  green. 


Robins  /  fly,  and  take  your  Jill 

Of  out-of-doors — 
Garden,  orchard,  meadow,  hill, 

Barns  and  bowers ; 
Take  your  fill,  and  have  your  will — 

Virginia's  yours  ! 

But,  bluebirds  !  keep  away,  and  fear 
The  ambuscade  in  bushes  here. 


"A  green  song  that,"  a  sergeant  said; 

"  But  where's  poor  Pansy  ?   gone,  I  fear." 
"Ay,  mustered  out  at  Ashby's  Gap." 
"I  see;  now  for  a  live  man's  song; 
Ditty  for  ditty — prepare  to  cheer. 

My  bluebirds,  you  can  fling  a  cap ! 
You  barehead  Mosby-boys — why — clap  !' 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  2 1 3 

Nine  Blue-coats  went  a-nutting 

Slyly  in  Tennessee — 
Not  for  chestnuts — better  than  that — 
Hush,  you  bumble-bee  ! 
Nutting^  nutting — 
All  through  the  year  therms  nutting! 


A  tree  they  spied  so  yellow. 
Rustling  in  motion  queer ; 
In  they  fired,  and  down  they  dropped — 
Butternuts,  my  dear! 
Nutting,  nutting — 
Who'll  "list  to  go  a-nutting? 


Ah!  why  should  good  fellows  foemen  be? 

And  who  would  dream  that  foes  they  were — 
Larking  and  singing  so  friendly  then — 
A  family  likeness  in  every  face. 

But  Captain  Cloud  made  sour  demur: 

"Guard!  keep  your  prisoners  in  the  pen, 
And  let  none  talk  with  Mosby's  men." 


214  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

That  captain  was  a  valorous  one 

(No  irony,  but  honest  truth), 
Yet  down  from  his  brain  cold  drops  distilled, 
Making  stalactites  in  his  heart — 
A  conscientious  soul,  forsooth ; 

And  with  a  formal  hate  was  filled 

Of  Mosby's  band ;  and  some  he'd  killed. 


Meantime  the  lady  rueful  sat, 

Watching  the  flicker  of  a  fire 
Where  the  Colonel  played  the  outdoor  host 
In  brave  old  hall  of  ancient  Night. 

But  ever  the  dame  grew  shyer  and  shyer, 
Seeming  with  private  grief  engrossed — 
Grief  far  from  Mosby,  housed  or  lost. 


The  ruddy  embers  showed  her  pale. 
The  Soldier  did  his  best  devoir : 
"  Some  coffee  ? — no  ? — a  cracker  ? — one  ?" 
Cared  for  her  servant — sought  to  cheer: 
"  I  know,  I  know — a  cruel  war  ! 

But  wait — even  Mosby  '11  eat  his  bun 
The  Old  Hearth— back  to  it  anon!" 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  215 

But  cordial  words  no  balm  could  bring; 

She  sighed,  and  kept  her  inward  chafe, 
And  seemed  to  hate  the  voice  of^lee — 
Joyless  and  tearless.     Soon  he  called 
An  escort :  "  See  this  lady  safe 

In  yonder  house. — Madam,  you're  free. 
And  now  for  Mosby. — Guide !  with  me." 


("  A  night-ride,  eh  ?")     "  Tighten  your  girths  ! 

But,  buglers !  not  a  note  from  you. 
Fling  more  rails  on  the  fires — a  blaze !" 
("Sergeant,  a  feint — I  told  you  so — 
Toward  Aldie  again.     Bivouac,  adieu !") 
After  the  cheery  flames  they  gaze, 
Then  back  for  Mosby  through  the  maze. 


The  moon  looked  through  the  trees,  and  tipped 

The  scabbards  with  her  elfin  beam ; 
The  Leader  backward  cast  his  glance, 
Proud  of  the  cavalcade  that  came — 
A  hundred  horses,  bay  and  cream : 

"  Major !  look  how  the  lads  advance — 
Mosby  we'll  have  in  the  ambulance!" 


216  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt : — was  that  a  hare  ? — 

First  catch,  then  cook;  and  cook  him  brown." 
"Trust  me  to  catch,"  the  other  cried — 
"  The  lady's  letter  ! — a  dance,  man,  dance 
This  night  is  given  in  Leesburg  town!" 

"  He'll  be  there  too !"  wheezed  ou{  the  Guide ; 
"That  Mosby  loves  a  dance  and  ride!" 


"The  lady,  ah! — the  lady's  letter — 

A  lady,  then,  is  in  the  case," 
Muttered  the  Major.     "Ay,  her  aunt 
Writes  her  to  come  by  Friday  eve 
(To-night),  for  people  of  the  place, 
At  Mosby's  last  fight  jubilant, 
A  party  give,  though  table-cheer  be  scant." 


The  Major  hemmed.     "Then  this  night-ride 

We  owe  to  her? — One  lighted  house 
In  a  town  else  dark. — The  moths,  begar! 
Are  not  quite  yet  all  dead!"     "How?  how?" 
"A  mute,  meek,  mournful  little  mouse! — 
Mosby  has  wiles  which  subtle  are — 
But  woman's  wiles  in  wiles  of  war !" 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  217 

"  Tut,  Major !  by  what  craft  or  guile — " 

"Can't  tell!  but  he'll  be  found  in  wait. 
Softly  we  enter,  say,  the  town — 
Good !  pickets  post,  and  all  so  sure — 
When — crack!  the  rifles  from  every  gate, 

The  Gray-backs  fire — dash  up  and  down — 
Each  alley  unto  Mosby  known!" 


"Now,  Major,  now — you  take  dark  views 

Of  a  moonlight  night."     "Well,  well,  we'll  see," 
And  smoked  as  if  each  whiff  were  gain. 
The  other  mused;  then  sudden  asked, 
"What  would  you  do  in  grand  decree?" 

"  I'd  beat,  if  I  could,  Lee's  armies — then 
Send  constables  after  Mosby's  men." 


"Ay!  ay! — you're  odd."     The  moon  sailed  up; 

On  through  the  shadowy  land  they  went. 
"Names  must  be  made  and  printed  beP* 
Hummed  the  blithe  Colonel.     "Doc,  your  flask! 
Major,  I  drink  to  your  good  content. 
My  pipe  is  out — enough  for  me ! 
One's  buttons  shine — does  Mosby  see? 
K 


218  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

"But  what  comes  here?"     A  man  from  the  front 

Reported  a  tree  athwart  the  road. 
"  Go  round  it,  then ;  no  time  to  bide ; 
All  right — go  on!     Were  one  to  stay 
For  each  distrust  of  a  nervous  mood, 

Long  miles  we'd  make  in  this  our  ride 
Through  Mosby-land. — On !  with  the  Guide  !" 


Then  sportful  to  the  Surgeon  turned : 

"  Green  sashes  hardly  serve  by  night !" 
"Nor  bullets  nor  bottles,"  the  Major  sighed, 
"Against  these  moccasin-snakes — such  foes 
As  seldom  come  to  solid  fight : 

They  kill  and  vanish ;  through  grass  they  glide ; 
Devil  take  Mosby !" — his  horse  here  shied. 


"  Hold !  look — the  tree,  like  a  dragged  balloon ; 

A  globe  of  leaves — some  trickery  here ; 
My  nag  is  right — best  now  be  shy." 
A  movement  was  made,  a  hubbub  and  snarl ; 
Little  was  plain — they  blindly  steer. 
The  Pleiads,  as  from  ambush  sly, 
Peep  out — Mosby's  men  in  the  sky ! 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  219 

As  restive  they  turn,  how  sore  they  feel, 

And  cross,  and  sleepy,  and  full  of  spleen, 
And  curse  the  war.     "  Fools,  North  and  South !" 
Said  one  right  out.     "O  for  a  bed! 

O  now  to  drop  in  this  woodland  green !" 

He  drops  as  the  syllables  leave  his  mouth — 
Mosby  speaks  from  the  undergrowth — 


Speaks  in  a  volley !  out  jets  the  flame ! 

Men  fall  from  their  saddles  like  plums  from  trees; 
Horses  take  fright,  reins  tangle  and  bind; 
"  Steady — dismount — form — and  into  the  wood !" 
They  go,  but  find  what  scarce  can  please : 

Their  steeds  have  been  tied  in  the  field  behind 
And  Mosby's  men  are  off  like  the  wind. 


Sound  the  recall!  vain  to  pursue — 

The  enemy  scatters  in  wilds  he  knows, 
To  reunite  in  his  own  good  time; 
And,  to  follow,  they  need  divide — 

To  come  lone  and  lost  on  crouching  foes : 
Maple  and  hemlock,  beech  and  lime, 
Are  Mosby's  confederates,  share  the  crime. 


22O  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

"Major,"  burst  in  a  bugler  small, 

"The  fellow  we  left  in  Loudon  grass — 
Sir  Slyboots  with  the  inward  bruise, 
His  voice  I  heard — the  very  same — 
Some  watchword  in  the  ambush  pass ; 
Ay,  sir,  we  had  him  in  his  shoes — 
We  caught  him — Mosby — but  to  lose!" 


"  Go,  go !— these  saddle-dreamers  !     Well, 

And  here's  another. — Cool,  sir,  cool !" 
"Major,  I  saw  them  mount  and  sweep, 
And  one  was  humped,  or  I  mistake, 
And  in  the  skurry  dropped  his  wool." 

"  A  wig !  go  fetch  it : — the  lads  need  sleep  ; 
They'll  next  see  Mosby  in  a  sheep ! 


"  Come,  come,  fall  back  !  reform  your  ranks — 

All's  jackstraws  here  !     Where's  Captain  Morn  ? — 
We've  parted  like  boats  in  a  raging  tide ! 
But  stay — the  Colonel — did  he  charge? 

And  comes  he  there  ?    'Tis  streak  of  dawn ; 
Mosby  is  off,  the  woods  are  wide — 
Hist!  there's  a  groan — this  crazy  ride!" 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  221 

As  they  searched  for  the  fallen,  the  dawn  grew  chill ; 

They  lay  in  the  dew :  "  Ah !  hurt  much,  Mink  ? 
And — yes — the  Colonel!"     Dead!  but  so  calm 
That  death  seemed  nothing — even  death, 

The  thing  we  deem  every  thing  heart  can  think; 
Amid  wilding  roses  that  shed  their  balm, 
Careless  of  Mosby  he  lay — in  a  charm ! 


The  Major  took  him  by  the  hand — 

Into  the  friendly  clasp  it  bled 
(A  ball  through  heart  and  hand  he  rued) : 
"  Good-by !"  and  gazed  with  humid  glance ; 
Then  in  a  hollow  revery  said, 

"The  weakest  thing  is  lustihood ; 

But  Mosby" — and  he  checked  his  mood. 


"  Where's  the  advance  ? — cut  off,  by  heaven  ! 

Come,  Surgeon,  how  with  your  wounded  there?" 
"The  ambulance  will  carry  all." 
"  Well,  get  them  in ;  we  go  to  camp. 

Seven  prisoners  gone?  for  the  rest  have  care." 
Then  to  himself,  "  This  grief  is  gall ; 
That  Mosby !— I'll  cast  a  silver  ball !" 


222  The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

"  Ho  !"  turning — "  Captain  Cloud,  you  mind 

The  place  where  the  escort  went — so  shady? 
Go,  search  every  closet  low  and  high, 
And  barn,  and  bin,  and  hidden  bower — 
Every  covert — find  that  lady! 

And  yet  I  may  misjudge  her — ay, 
Women  (like  Mosby)  mystify. 


"  We'll  see.     Ay,  Captain,  go — with  speed  ! 
Surround  and  search ;  each  living  thing 
Secure;  that  done,  await  us  where 
We  last  turned  off.     Stay!  fire  the  cage 

If  the  birds  be  flown."     By  the  cross-road  spring 
The  bands  rejoined ;  no  words ;  the  glare 
Told  all.     Had  Mosby  plotted  there? 


The  weary  troop  that  wended  now — 

Hardly  it  seemed  the  same  that  pricked 
Forth  to  the  forest  from  the  camp : 
Foot-sore  horses,  jaded  men ; 
Every  backbone  felt  as  nicked, 

Each  eye  dim  as  a  sick-room  lamp, 
All  faces  stamped  with  Mosby's  stamp. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.          •  223 

In  order  due  the  Major  rode — 

Chaplain  and  Surgeon  on  either  hand ; 
A  riderless  horse  a  negro  led; 
In  a  wagon  the  blanketed  sleeper  went; 
Then  the  ambulance  with  the  bleeding  band; 
And,  an  emptied  oat-bag  on  each  head, 
Went  Mosby's  men,  and  marked  the  dead. 


What  gloomed  them?  what  so  cast  them  down, 

And  changed  the  cheer  that  late  they  took, 
As  double-guarded  now  they  rode 
Between  the  files  of  moody  men? 

Some  sudden  consciousness  they  brook, 

Or  dread  the  sequel.     That  night's  blood 
Disturbed  even  Mosby's  brotherhood. 


The  flagging  horses  stumbled  at  roots, 

Floundered  in  mires,  or  clinked  the  stones; 
No  rider  spake  except  aside ; 
But  the  wounded  cramped  in  the  ambulance, 
It  was  horror  to  hear  their  groans — 
Jerked  along  in  the  woodland  ride, 
While  Mosby's  clan  their  revery  hide. 


224   '          The  Scout  toward  Aldie. 

The  Hospital  Steward — even  he — 

Who  on  the  sleeper  kept  his  glance, 
Was  changed ;  late  bright-black  beard  and  eye 
Looked  now  hearse-black;  his  heavy  heart, 
Like  his  fagged  mare,  no  more  could  dance; 
His  grape  was  now  a  raisin  dry : 
'Tis  Mosby's  homily — Man  must  die. 


The  amber  sunset  flushed  the  camp 

As  on  the  hill  their  eyes  they  fed ; 
The  pickets  dumb  looks  at  the  wagon  dart ; 
A  handkerchief  waves  from  the  bannered  tent — 
As  white,  alas !  the  face  of  the  dead : 

Who  shall  the  withering  news  impart? 

TJie  bullet  of  Mosby  goes  through  heart  to  heart ! 


They  buried  him  where  the  lone  ones  lie 

(Lone  sentries  shot  on  midnight  post) — 
A  green-wood  grave-yard  hid  from  ken, 
Where  sweet-fern  flings  an  odor  nigh — 
Yet  held  in  fear  for  the  gleaming  ghost! 

Though  the  bride  should  see  threescore  and  ten, 
She  will  dream  of  Mosby  and  his  men. 


The  Scout  toward  Aldie.  225 

Now  halt  the  verse,  and  turn  aside — 
The  cypress  falls  athwart  the  way; 
No  joy  remains  for  bard  to  sing; 
And  heaviest  dole  of  all  is  this, 
That  other  hearts  shall  be  as  gay 

As  hers  that  now  no  more  shall  spring: 
To  Mosby-land  the  dirges  cling. 

K2 


LEE  IN  THE  CAPITOL. 


Lee  in  the  Capitol? 
(April,  1866.) 


HARD  pressed  by  numbers  in  his  strait, 

Rebellion's  soldier-chief  no  more  contends — 
Feels  that  the  hour  is  come  of  Fate, 

Lays  down  one  sword,  and  widened  warfare  ends. 
The  captain  who  fierce  armies  led 
Becomes  a  quiet  seminary's  head — 
Poor  as  his  privates,  earns  his  bread. 
In  studious  cares  and  aims  engrossed, 

Strives  to  forget  Stuart  and  Stonewall  dead — 
Comrades  and  cause,  station  and  riches  lost, 

And  all  the  ills  that  flock  when  fortune's  fled. 
No  word  he  breathes  of  vain  lament, 

Mute  to  reproach,  nor  hears  applause — 
His  doom  accepts,  perforce  content, 

And  acquiesces  in  asserted  laws ; 
Secluded  now  would  pass  his  life, 
And  leave  to  time  the  sequel  of  the  strife. 


230  Lee  in  the  Capitol. 

But  missives  from  the  Senators  ran; 
Not  that  they  now  would  gaze  upon  a  swordless  foe, 
And  power  made  powerless  and  brought  low : 

Reasons  of  state,  'tis  claimed,  require  the  man. 
Demurring  not,  promptly  he  comes 
By  ways  which  show  the  blackened  homes, 

And — last — the  seat  no  more  his  own, 
But  Honor's ;  patriot  grave-yards  fill 
The  forfeit  slopes  of  that  patrician  hill, 

And  fling  a  shroud  on  Arlington. 
The  oaks  ancestral  all  are  low; 
No  more  from  the  porch  his  glance  shall  go 
Ranging  the  varied  landscape  o'er, 
Far  as  the  looming  Dome — no  more. 
One  look  he  gives,  then  turns  aside, 
Solace  he  summons  from  his  pride : 
"  So  be  it !     They  await  me  now 
Who  wrought  this  stinging  overthrow; 
They  wait  me;  not  as  on  the  day 
Of  Pope's  impelled  retreat  in  disarray — 
By  me  impelled — when  toward  yon  Dome 
The  clouds  of  war  came  rolling  home." 
The  burst,  the  bitterness  was  spent, 
The  heart-burst  bitterly  turbulent, 
And  on  he  fared. 


Lee  in  the  Capitol.  231 

In  nearness  now 

He  marks  the  Capitol — a  show 
Lifted  in  amplitude,  and  set 
With  standards  flushed  with  the  glow  of  Richmond  yet ; 

Trees  and  green  terraces  sleep  below. 
Through  the  clear  air,  in  sunny  light, 
The  marble  dazes — a  temple  white. 

Intrepid  soldier!  had  his  blade  been  drawn 

For  yon  starred  flag,  never  as  now 

Bid  to  the  Senate-house  had  he  gone, 

But  freely,  and  in  pageant  borne, 

As  when  brave  numbers  without  number,  massed, 

Plumed  the  broad  way,  and  pouring  passed — 

Bannered,  beflowered — between  the  shores 

Of  faces,  and  the  dinn'd  huzzas, 

And  balconies  kindling  at  the  sabre-flash, 

'Mid  roar  of  drums  and  guns,  and  cymbal-crash, 

While  Grant  and  Sherman  shone  in  blue — 

Close  of  the  war  and  victory's  long  review. 

Yet  pride  at  hand  still  aidful  swelled, 

And  up  the  hard  ascent  he  held. 

The  meeting  follows.     In  his  mien 

The  victor  and  the  vanquished  both  are  seen — 

All  that  he  is,  and  what  he  late  had  been. 


232  Lee  in  the  Capitol. 

Awhile,  with  curious  eyes  they  scan 

The  Chief  who  led  invasion's  van — 

Allied  by  family  to  one, 

Founder  of  the  Arch  the  Invader  warred  upon : 

Who  looks  at  Lee  must  think  of  Washington ; 

In  pain  must  think,  and  hide  the  thought, 

So  deep  with  grievous  meaning  it  is  fraught. 

Secession  in  her  soldier  shows 
Silent  and  patient ;  and  they  feel 

(Developed  even  in  just  success) 
Dim  inklings  of  a  hazy  future  steal ; 

Their  thoughts  their  questions  well  express  : 
"Does  the  sad  South  still  cherish  hate? 
Freely  will  Southern  men  with  Northern  mate? 
The  blacks — should  we  our  arm  withdraw, 
Would  that  betray  them?  some  distrust  your  law. 
And  how  if  foreign  fleets  should  come — 
Would  the  South  then  drive  her  wedges  home?" 
And  more  hereof.     The  Virginian  sees — 
Replies  to  such  anxieties. 
Discreet  his  answers  run — appear 
Briefly  straightforward,  coldly  clear. 

"  If  now,"  the  Senators,  closing,  say, 

"  Aught  else  remain,  speak  out,  we  pray." 


Lee  in  the  Capitol.  233 

Hereat  he  paused;  his  better  heart 

Strove  strongly  then ;  prompted  a  worthier  part 

Than  coldly  to  endure  his  doom. 

Speak  out?    Ay,  speak,  and  for  the  brave, 

Who  else  no  voice  or  proxy  have ; 

Frankly  their  spokesman  here  become, 

And  the  flushed  North  from  her  own  victory  save. 

That  inspiration  overrode — 

Hardly  it  quelled  the  galling  load 

Of  personal  ill.     The  inner  feud 

He,  self-contained,  a  while  withstood ; 

They  waiting.     In  his  troubled  eye 

Shadows  from  clouds  unseen  they  spy ; 

They  could  not  mark  within  his  breast 

The  pang  which  pleading  thought  oppressed  : 

He  spoke,  nor  felt  the  bitterness  die. 

"My  word  is  given — it  ties  my  sword; 

Even  were  banners  still  abroad, 

Never  could  I  strive  in  arms  again 

While  you,  as  fit,  that  pledge  retain. 

Our  cause  I  followed,  stood  in  field  and  gate — 

All's  over  now,  and  now  I  follow  Fate. 

But  this  is  naught.     A  People  call — 

A  desolated  land,  and  all 


234  Lee  in  the  Capitol. 

The  brood  of  ills  that  press  so  sore, 

The  natural  offspring  of  this  civil  war, 

Which  ending  not  in  fame,  such  as  might  rear 

Fitly  its  sculptured  trophy  here, 

Yields  harvest  large  of  doubt  and  dread 

To  all  who  have  the  heart  and  head 

To  feel  and  know.     How  shall  I  speak? 

Thoughts  knot  with  thoughts,  and  utterance  check. 

Before  my  eyes  there  swims  a  haze, 

Through  mists  departed  comrades  gaze — 

First  to  encourage,  last  that  shall  upbraid ! 

How  shall  I  speak?    The  South  would  fain 

Feel  peace,  have  quiet  law  again — 

Replant  the  trees  for  homestead-shade. 

You  ask  if  she  recants :  she  yields. 
Nay,  and  would  more;  would  blend  anew, 
As  the  bones  of  the  slain  in  her  forests  do, 
Bewailed  alike  by  us  and  you. 

A  voice  comes  out  from  these  enamel-fields, 
A  plaintive  yet  unheeded  one : 
'  Died  all  in  vain  ?  both  sides  undone  V 
Push  not  your  triumph;  do  not  urge 
Submissiveness  beyond  the  verge. 
Intestine  rancor  would  you  bide, 
Nursing  eleven  sliding  daggers  in  your  side? 


Lee  in  the  CapitoL  235 

Far  from  my  thought  to  school  or  threat; 

I  speak  the  things  which  hard  beset. 

Where  various  hazards  meet  the  eyes, 

To  elect  in  magnanimity  is  wise. 

Reap  victory's  fruit  while  sound  the  core; 

What  sounder  fruit  than  re-established  law  ? 

I  know  your  partial  thoughts  do  press 

Solely  on  us  for  war's  unhappy  stress ; 

But  weigh — consider — look  at  all, 

And  broad  anathema  you'll  recall. 

The  censor's  charge  I'll  not  repeat, 

That  meddlers  kindled  the  war's  white  heat — 

Vain  intermeddlers  and  malign, 

Both  of  the  palm  and  of  the  pine  j 

I  waive  the  thought — which  never  can  be  rife — 

Common's  the  crime  in  every  civil  strife  : 

But  this  I  feel,  that  North  and  South  were  driven 

By  Fate  to  arms.     For  our  unshriven, 

What  thousands,  truest  souls,  were  tried — 

As  never  may  any  be  again — 
All  those  who  stemmed  Secession's  pride, 
But  at  last  were  .swept  by  the  urgent  tide 

Into  the  chasm.     I  know  their  pain. 
A  story  here  may  be  applied : 
1  In  Moorish  lands  there  lived  a  maid 

Brought  to  confess  by  vow  the  creed 


236  Lee  in  the  Capitol. 

Of  Christians.     Fain  would  priests  persuade 
That  now  she  must  approve  by  deed 

The  faith  she  kept.     "What  deed?"  she  asked. 
"Your  old  sire  leave,  nor  deem  it  sin, 

And  come  with  us."     Still  more  they  tasked 
The  sad  one  :  "  If  heaven  you'd  win — 

Far  from  the  burning  pit  withdraw, 
Then  must  you  learn  to  hate  your  kin, 

Yea,  side  against  them — such  the  law, 
For  Moor  and  Christian  are  at  war." 
"  Then  will  I  never  quit  my  sire, 
But  here  with  him  through  every  trial  go, 
Nor  leave  him  though  in  flames  below — 
God  help  me  in  his  fire  !" ' 
So  in  the  South;  vain  every  plea 
'Gainst  Nature's  strong  fidelity; 

True  to  the  home  and  to  the  heart, 
Throngs  cast  their  lot  with  kith  and  kin, 

Foreboding,  cleaved  to  the  natural  part — 
Was  this  the  unforgivable  sin? 
These  noble  spirits  are  yet  yours  to  win. 
Shall  the  great  North  go  Sylla's  way? 
Proscribe  ?  prolong  the  evil  day  ? 
Confirm  the  curse  ?  infix  the  hate  ? 
In  Union's  name  forever  alienate  ? 


Lee  in  the  Capitol.  237 

From  reason  who  can  urge  the  plea — 

Freemen  conquerors  of  the  free  ? 

When  blood  returns  to  the  shrunkeri  vein, 

Shall  the  wound  of  the  Nation  bleed  again  ? 

Well  may  the  wars  wan  thought  supply, 

And  kill  the  kindling  of  the  hopeful  eye, 

Unless  you  do  what  even  kings  have  done 

In  leniency — unless  you  shun 

To  copy  Europe  in  her  worst  estate — 

Avoid  the  tyranny  you  reprobate." 

He  ceased.     His  earnestness  unforeseen 

Moved,  but  not  swayed  their  former  mien ; 
And  they  dismissed  him.     Forth  he  went 

Through  vaulted  walks  in  lengthened  line 

Like  porches  erst  upon  the  Palatine  : 
Historic  reveries  their  lesson  lent, 
The  Past  her  shadow  through  the  Future  sent. 

But  no.     Brave  though  the  Soldier,  grave  his  plea — 
Catching  the  light  in  the  future's  skies, 

Instinct  disowns  each  darkening  prophecy: 
Faith  in  America  never  dies ; 

Heaven  shall  the  end  ordained  fulfill, 

We  march  with  Providence  cheery  still. 


A    MED  IT  A  TION: 

ATTRIBUTED  TO  A  NORTHERNER  AFTER  ATTENDING  THE 
LAST  OF  TWO  FUNERALS  FROM  THE  SAME  HOMESTEAD— 
THOSE  OF  A  NATIONAL  AND  A  CONFEDERATE  OFFICER 
(BROTHERS),  HIS  KINSMEN,  WHO  HAD  DIED  FROM  THE  EF 
FECTS  OF  WOUNDS  RECEIVED  IN  THE  CLOSING  BATTLES. 


A   Meditation. 


How  often  in  the  years  that  close, 
When  truce  had  stilled  the  sieging  gun, 

The  soldiers,  mounting  on  their  works, 
With  mutual  curious  glance  have  run 

From  face  to  face  along 'the  fronting  show, 

And  kinsman  spied,  or  friend — even  in  a  foe. 

What  thoughts  conflicting  then  were  shared, 

While  sacred  tenderness  perforce 
Welled  from  the  heart  and  wet  the  eye; 

And  something  of  a  strange  remorse 
Rebelled  against  the  sanctioned  sin  of  blood, 
And  Christian  wars  of  natural  brotherhood. 

Then  stirred  the  god  within  the  breast — 
The  witness  that  is  man's  at  birth; 

A  deep  misgiving  undermined 

Each  plea  and  subterfuge  of  earth ; 

They  felt  in  that  rapt  pause,  with  warning  rife, 

Horror  and  anguish  for  the  civil  strife. 
L 


242  A   Meditation. 

Of  North  or  South  they  recked  not  then, 
Warm  passion  cursed  the  cause  of  war  : 

Can  Africa  pay  back  this  blood 
Spilt  on  Potomac's  shore  ? 

Yet  doubts,  as  pangs,  were  vain  the  strife  to  stay, 

And  hands  that  fain  had  clasped  again  could  slay. 

How  frequent  in  the  camp  was  seen 

The  herald  from  the  hostile  one, 
A  guest  and  frank  companion  there 

When  the  proud  formal  talk  was  done ; 
The  pipe  of  peace  was  smoked  even  'mid  the  war, 
And  fields  in  Mexico  again  fought  o'er. 

In  Western  battle  long  they  lay 

So  near  opposed  in  trench  or  pit, 
That  foeman  unto  foeman  called 

As  men  who  screened  in  tavern  sit : 
"  You  bravely  fight"  each  to  the  other  said — 
"  Toss  us  a  biscuit !"  o'er  the  wall  it  sped. 

And  pale  on  those  same  slopes,  a  boy — 

A  stormer,  bled  in  noon-day  glare ; 
No  aid  the  Blue-coats  then  could  bring, 

He  cried  to  them  who  nearest  were, 
And  out  there  came  'mid  howling  shot  and  shell 
A  daring  foe  who  him  befriended  well. 


A   Meditation.  243 

Mark  the  great  Captains  on  both  sides, 

The  soldiers  with  the  broad  renown — 
They  all  were  messmates  on  the  Hudson's  marge, 

Beneath  one  roof  they  laid  them  down ; 
And,  free  from  hate  in  many  an  after  pass, 
Strove  as  in  school-boy  rivalry  of  the  class. 

A  darker  side  there  is ;  but  doubt 

In  Nature's  charity  hovers  there  : 
If  men  for  new  agreement  yearn, 

Then  old  upbraiding  best  forbear: 
"The  Souttis  the  sinner!"     Well,  so  let  it  be; 
But  shall  the  North  sin  worse,  and  stand  the  Pharisee? 

O,  now  that  brave  men  yield  the  sword, 

Mine  be  the  manful  soldier-view; 
By  how  much  more  they  boldly  warred, 

By  so  much  more  is  mercy  due : 

'When  Vicksburg  fell,  and  the  moody  files  marched  out, 
Silent  the  victors  stood,  scorning  to  raise  a  shout. 


NO  TES. 


NOTE  s. 


NOTE  *,page  14. 

The  gloomy  lull  of  the  early  part  of  the  winter  of  1860-1,  seeming  big  with 
final  disaster  to  our  institutions,  affected  some  minds  that  believed  them  to  con 
stitute  one  of  the  great  hopes  of  mankind,  much  as  the  eclipse  which  came 
over  the  promise  of  the  first  French  Revolution  affected  kindred  natures,  throw 
ing  them  for  the  time  into  doubts  and  misgivings  universal. 


NOTE  b,  page  31. 

"  The  terrible  Stone  Fleet,  on  a  mission  as  pitiless  as  the  granite  that  freights 
it,  sailed  this  morning  from  Port  Royal,  and  before  two  days  are  past  will  have 
made  Charleston  an  inland  city.  The  ships  are  all  old  whalers,  and  cost  the 
government  from  $2500  to  $5000  each.  Some  of  them  were  once  famous  ships." 
— (From  Newspaper  Correspondence  of  the  day.) 

Sixteen  vessels  were  accordingly  sunk  on  the  bar  at  the  river  entrance.  Their 
names  were  as  follows  : 


Amazon, 

America, 

American, 

Archer, 

Courier, 

Fortune, 

Herald, 

Kensington, 


Leonidas, 
Maria  Theresa, 
Potomac, 
Rebecca  Simms, 
L.  C.  Richmond, 
Robin  Hood, 
Tenedos, 
William  Lee. 


All  accounts  seem  to  agree  that  the  object  proposed  was  not  accomplished. 
The  channel  is  even  said  to  have  become  ultimately  benefited  by  the  means 
employed  to  obstruct  it. 


248  Notes. 


NOTE  c,  page  58. 

The  Temeraire,  that  storied  ship  of  the  old  English  fleet,  and  the  subject  of 
the  well-known  painting  by  Turner,  commends  itself  to  the  mind  seeking  for 
some  one  craft  to  stand  for  the  poetic  ideal  of  those  great  historic  wooden  war 
ships,  whose  gradual  displacement  is  lamented  by  none  more  than  by  regularly 
educated  navy  officers,  and  of  all  nations. 


NOTE  d,  page  59. 

Some  of  the  cannon  of  old  times,  especially  the  brass  ones,  unlike  the  more 
effective  ordnance  of  the  present  day,  were  cast  in  shapes  which  Cellini  might 
have  designed,  were  gracefully  enchased,  generally  with  the  arms  of  the  country. 
A  few  of  them— field-pieces— captured  in  our  earlier  wars,  are  preserved  in  ar 
senals  and  navy-yards. 


NOTE  e,  page  69. 

Whatever  just  military  criticism,  favorable  or  otherwise,  has  at  any  time  been 
made  upon  General  McClellan's  campaigns,  will  stand.  But  if,  during  the  ex 
citement  of  the  conflict,  aught  was  spread  abroad  tending  to  unmerited  dispar 
agement  of  the  man,  it  must  necessarily  die  out,  though  not  perhaps  without 
leaving  some  traces,  which  may  or  may  not  prove  enduring.  Some  there  are 
whose  votes  aided  in  the  re-election  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  who  yet  believed, 
and  retain  the  belief,  that  General  McClellan,  to  say  the  least,  always*  proved 
himself  a  patriotic  and  honorable  soldier.  The  feeling  which  surviving  com 
rades  entertain  for  their  late  commander  is  one  which,  from  its  passion,  is  sus 
ceptible  of  versified  representation,  and  such  it  receives. 


NOTE  f,  page  71. 

At  Antietam  Stonewall  Jackson  led  one  wing  of  Lee's  army,  consequently 
sharing  that  day  in  whatever  may  be  deemed  to  have  been  the  fortunes  of  his 
superior. 


Notes.  249 


NOTE  e,  page  78. 

Admiral  Porter  is  a  son  of  the  late  Commodore  Porter,  commander  of  the 
frigate  Essex  on  that  Pacific  cruise  which  ended  in  the  desperate  fight  off  Val 
paraiso  with  the  English  frigates  Cherub  and  Phcebe,  in  the  year  1814. 

NOTE  h,  page  85. 

Among  numerous  head-stones  or  monuments  on  Cemetery  Hill,  marred  or 
destroyed  by  the  enemy's  concentrated  fire,  was  one,  somewhat  conspicuous,  of 
a  Federal  officer  killed  before  Richmond  in  1862. 

On  'the  4th  of  July,  1865,  the  Gettysburg  National  Cemetery,  on  the  same 
height  with  the  original  burial-ground,  was  consecrated,  and  the  corner-stone 
laid  of  a  commemorative  pile. 


NOTE  i,  page  86. 

"I  dare  not  write  the  horrible  and  inconceivable  atrocities  committed,"  says 
Froissart,  in  alluding  to  the  remarkable  sedition  in  France  during  his  time. 
The  like  may  be  hinted  of  some  proceedings  of  the  draft-rioters. 


NOTE  J,  page  go. 

Although  the  month  was  November,  the  day  was  in  character  an  October  one 
—  cool,  clear,  bright,  intoxicatingly  invigorating;  one  of  those  days  peculiar  to 
the  ripest  hours  of  our  American  autumn.  This  weather  must  have  had  much 
to  do  with  the  spontaneous  enthusiasm  which  seized  the  troops — an  enthusiasm 
aided,  doubtless,  by  glad  thoughts  of  the  victory  of  Look-out  Mountain  won  the 
day  previous,  and  also  by  the  elation  attending  the  capture,  after  a  fierce  strug 
gle,  of  the  long  ranges  of  rifle-pits  at  the  mountain's  base,  where  orders  for  the 
time  should  have  stopped  the  advance.  But  there  and  then  it  was  that  the 
army  took  the  bit  between  its  teeth,  and  ran  away  with  the  generals  to  the 
victory  commemorated.  General  Grant,  at  Culpepper,  a  few  weeks  prior  to 
crossing  the  Rapidan  for  the  Wilderness,  expressed  to  a  visitor  his  impression 
of  the  impulse  and  the  spectacle  :  Said  he,  "  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it :" 

L   2 


250  Notes. 


language  which  seems  curiously  undertoned,  considering  its  application ;  but 
from  the  taciturn  Commander  it  was  equivalent  to  a  superlative  or  hyperbole 
from  the  talkative. 

The  height  of  the  Ridge,  according  to  the  account  at  hand,  varies  along  its 
length  from  six  to  seven  hundred  feet  above  the  plain ;  it  slopes  at  an  angle  of 
about  forty-five  degrees. 


NOTE  k,  page  107. 

The  great  Parrott  gun,  planted  in  the  marshes  of  James  Island,  and  employed 
in  the  prolonged,  though  at  times  intermitted  bombardment  of  Charleston,  was 
known  among  our  soldiers  as  the  Swamp  Angel. 

St.  Michael's,  characterized  by  its  venerable  tower,  was  the  historic  and  aris 
tocratic  church  of  the  town. 


NOTE  ',  page  122. 

Among  the  Northwestern  regiments  there  would  seem  to  have  been  more 
than  one  which  carried  a  living  eagle  as  an  added  ensign.  The  bird  com 
memorated  here  was,  according  to  the  account,  borne  aloft  on  a  perch  beside 
the  standard ;  went  through  successive  battles  and  campaigns ;  was  more  than 
once  under  the  surgeon's  hands  ;  and  at  the  close  of  the  contest  found  honora 
ble  repose  in  the  capital  of  Wisconsin,  from  which  state  he  had  gone  to  the 
wars. 


NOTE  m,  page  124. 

The  late  Major  General  McPherson,  commanding  the  Army  of  the  Tennes 
see,  a  native  of  Ohio  and  a  West  Pointer,  was  one  of  the  foremost  spirits  of 
the  war.  Young,  though  a  veteran ;  hardy,  intrepid,  sensitive  in  honor,  full  of 
engaging  qualities,  with  manly  beauty ;  possessed  of  genius,  a  favorite  with  the 
army,  and  with  Grant  and  Sherman.  Both  Generals  have  generously  acknowl 
edged  their  professional  obligations  to  the  able  engineer  and  admirable  soldier, 
their  subordinate  and  junior. 

In  an  informal  account  written  by  the  Achilles  to  this  Sarpedon,  he  says : 


Notes.  251 


"  On  that  day  we  avenged  his  death.  Near  twenty-two  hundred  of  the  en 
emy's  dead  remained  on  the  ground  when  night  closed  upon  the  scene  of  ac 
tion." 

It  is  significant  of  the  scale  on  which  the  war  was  waged,  that  the  engagement 
thus  written  of  goes  solely  (so  far  as  can  be  learned)  under  the  vague  designa 
tion  of  one  of  the  battles  before  Atlanta. 


NOTE  n,  page  133. 

This  piece  was  written  while  yet  the  reports  were  coming  North  of  Sherman's 
homeward  advance  from  Savannah.  It  is  needless  to  point  out  its  purely  dra 
matic  character. 

Though  the  sentiment  ascribed  in  the  beginning  of  the  second  stanza  must, 
in  the  present  reading,  suggest  the  historic  tragedy  of  the  i4th  of  April,  never 
theless,  as  intimated,  it  was  written  prior  to  that  event,  and  without  any  distinct 
application  in  the  writer's  mind.  After  consideration,  it  is  allowed  to  remain. 

Few  need  be  reminded  that,  by  the  less  intelligent  classes  of  the  South, 
Abraham  Lincoln,  by  nature  the  most  kindly  of  men,  was  regarded  as  a  mon 
ster  wantonly  warring  upon  liberty.  He  stood  for  the  personification  of  tyran 
nic  power.  Each  Union  soldier  was  called  a  Lincolnite. 

Undoubtedly  Sherman,  in  the  desolation  he  inflicted  after  leaving  Atlanta, 
acted  not  in  contravention  of  orders ;  and  all,  in  a  military  point  of  view,  is  by 
military  judges  deemed  to  have  been  expedient,  and  nothing  can  abate  General 
Sherman's  shining  renown ;  his  claims  to  it  rest  on  no  single  campaign.  Still, 
there  are  those  who  can  not  but  contrast  some  of  the  scenes  enacted  in  Geor 
gia  and  the  Carolinas,  and  also  in  the  Shenandoah,  with  a  circumstance  in  a 
great  Civil  War  of  heathen  antiquity.  Plutarch  relates  that  in  a  military  coun 
cil  held  by  Pompey  and  the  chiefs  of  that  party  which  stood  for  the  Common 
wealth,  it  was  decided  that  under  no  plea  should  any  city  be  sacked  that  was 
subject  to  the  people  of  Rome.  There  was  this  difference,  however,  between 
the  Roman  civil  conflict  and  the  American  one.  The  war  of  Pompey  and  Cae 
sar  divided  the  Roman  people  promiscuously ;  that  of  the  North  and  South  ran 
a  frontier  line  between  what  for  the  time  were  distinct  communities  or  nations. 
In  this  circumstance,  possibly,  and  some  others,  may  be  found  both  the  cause 
and  the  justification  of  some  of  the  sweeping,  measures  adopted. 


252  Notes. 


NOTE  °,  page  142. 

At  this  period  of  excitement  the  thought  was  by  some  passionately  welcomed 
that  the  Presidential  successor  had  been  raised  up  by  heaven  to  wreak  venge 
ance  on  the  South.  The  idea  originated  in  the  remembrance  that  Andrew 
Johnson  by  birth  belonged  to  that  class  of  Southern  whites  who  never  cher 
ished  love  for  the  dominant  one ;  that  he  was  a  citizen  of  Tennessee,  where  the 
contest  at  times  and  in  places  had  been  close  and  bitter  as  a  Middle-Age  feud ; 
that  himself  and  family  had  been  hardly  treated  by  the  Secessionists. 

But  the  expectations  built  hereon  (if,  indeed,  ever  soberly  entertained),  happily 
for  the  country,  have  not  been  verified. 

Likewise  the  feeling  which  would  have  held  the  entire  South  chargeable  with 
the  crime  of  one  exceptional  assassin,  this  too  has  died  away  with  the  natural 
excitement  of  the  hour. 


NOTE  p,  page  144. 

The  incident  on  which  this  piece  is  based  is  narrated  in  a  newspaper  account 
of  the  battle  to  be  found  in  the  "Rebellion  Record."  During  the  disaster  to 
the  national  forces  on  the  first  day,  a  brigade  on  the  extreme  left  found  itself 
isolated.  The  perils  it  encountered  are  given  in  detail.  Among  others,  the  fol 
lowing  sentences  occur : 

"Under  cover  of  the  fire  from  the  bluffs,  the  rebels  rushed  down,  crossed  the 
ford,  and  in  a  moment  were  seen  forming  this  side  the  creek  in  open  fields,  and 
within  close  musket-range.  Their  color-bearers  stepped  defiantly  to  the  front 
as  the  engagement  opened  furiously ;  the  rebels  pouring  in  sharp,  quick  volleys 
of  musketry,  and  their  batteries  above  continuing  to  support  them  with  a  de 
structive  fire.  Our  sharpshooters  wanted  to  pick  off  the  audacious  rebel  color- 
bearers,  but  Colonel  Stuart  interposed :  "  No,  no,  they're  too  brave  fellows  to  be 
killed." 


NOTE  q,  page  146. 

According  to   a   report  of  the  Secretary  of  War,  there  were  on  the  first  day 
of  March,  1865,  965,000  men  on  the  army  pay-rolls.      Of  these,  some  200,000 — 


Notes.  253 


artillery,  cavalry,  and  infantry — made  up  from  the  larger  portion  of  the  veterans 
of  Grant  and  Sherman,  marched  by  the  President.  The  total  number  of  Union 
troops  enlisted  during  the  war  was  2,668,000. 


NOTE  r,  page  150. 

For  a  month  or  two  after  the  completion  of  peace,  some  thousands  of  re 
leased  captives  from  the  military  prisons  of  the  North,  natives  of  all  parts  of 
the  South,  passed  through  the  city  of  New  York,  sometimes  waiting  farther 
transportation  for  days,  during  which  interval  they  wandered  penniless  about 
the  streets,  or  lay  in  their  worn  and  patched  gray  uniforms  under  the  trees  of 
the  Battery,  near  the  barracks  where  they  were  lodged  and  fed.  They  were 
transported  and  provided  for  at  the  charge  of  government. 


NOTE  ",  page  153. 

Shortly  prior  to  the  evacuation  of  Petersburg,  the  enemy,  with  a  view  to  ul 
timate  repossession,  interred  some  of  his  heavy  guns  in  the  same  field  with  his 
dead,  and  with  every  circumstance  calculated  to  deceive.  Subsequently  the  ne 
groes  exposed  the  stratagem. 


NOTE  l,  page  157. 

The  records  of  Northern  colleges  attest  what  numbers  of  our  noblest  youth 
went  from  them  to  the  battle-field.  Southern  members  of  the  same  classes  ar 
rayed  themselves  on  the  side  of  Secession  ;  while  Southern  seminaries  contrib 
uted  large  quotas.  Of  all  these,  what  numbers  marched  who  never  returned  ex 
cept  on  the  shield. 


NOTE  n,  page  178. 

Written  prior  to  the  founding  of  the  National  Cemetery  at  Andersonville, 
where  15,000  of  the  reinterred  captives  now  sleep,  each  beneath  his  personal 
head-board,  inscribed  from  records  found  in  the  prison-hospital.  Some  hundreds 
rest  apart  and  without  name.  A  glance  at  the  published  pamphlet  containing 


254  Notes. 


the  list  of  the  buried  at  Andersonville  conveys  a  feeling  mournfully  impressive. 
Seventy-four  large  double-columned  pages  in  fine  print.  Looking  through  them 
is  like  getting  lost  among  the  old  turbaned  head-stones  and  cypresses  in  the 
interminable  Black  Forest  of  Scutari,  over  against  Constantinople. 


NOTE  v,  page  192. 

In  one  of  Kilpatrick's  earlier  cavalry  fights  near  Aldie,  a  Colonel  who,  being 
under  arrest,  had  been  temporarily  deprived  of  his  'sword,  nevertheless,  un 
armed,  insisted  upon  charging  at  the  head  of  his  men,  which  he  did,  and  the 
onset  proved  victorious. 


NOTE  w,  page  198. 

Certain  of  Mosby's  followers,  on  the  charge  of  being  unlicensed  foragers  or 
fighters,  being  hung  by  order  of  a  Union  cavalry  commander,  the  Partisan 
promptly  retaliated  in  the  woods.  In  turn,  this  also  was  retaliated,  it  is  said. 
To  what  extent  such  deplorable  proceedings  were  carried,  it  is  not  easy  to 
learn. 

South  of  the  Potomac  in  Virginia,  and  within  a  gallop  of  the  Long  Bridge  at 
Washington,  is  the  confine  of  a  country,  in  some  places  wild,  which  throughout 
the  war  it  was  unsafe  for  a  Union  man  to  traverse  except  with  an  armed  es 
cort.  This  was  the  chase  of  Mosby,  the  scene  of  many  of  his  exploits  or  those 
of  his  men.  In  the  heart  of  this  region  at  least  one  fortified  camp  was  main" 
tained  by  our  cavalry,  and  from  time  to  time  expeditions  were  made  therefrom. 
Owing  to  the  nature  of  the  country  and  the  embittered  feeling  of  its  inhabit 
ants,  many  of  these  expeditions  ended  disastrously.  Such  results  were  helped 
by  the  exceeding  cunning  of  the  enemy,  born  of  his  wood-craft,  and,  in  some 
instances,  by  undue  confidence  on  the  part  of  our  men.  A  body  of  cavalry, 
starting  from  camp  with  the  view  of  breaking  up  a  nest  of  rangers,  and  absent 
say  three  days,  would  return  with  a  number  of  their  own  forces  killed  and 
wounded  (ambushed),  without  being  able  to  retaliate  farther  than  by  foraging 
on  the  country,  destroying  a  house  or  two  reported  to  be  haunts  of  the  guer 
rillas,  or  capturing  non-combatants  accused  of  being  secretly  active  in  their  be 
half. 


Notes. 


255 


In  the  verse  the  name  of  Mosby  is  invested  with  some  of  those  associations 
with  which  the  popular  mind  is  familiar.  But  facts  do  not  warrant  the  belief 
that  every  clandestine  attack  of  men  who  passed  for  Mosby's  was  made  under 
his  eye,  or  even  by  his  knowledge. 

In  partisan  warfare  he  proved  himself  shrewd,  able,  and  enterprising,  and  al 
ways  a  wary  fighter.  He  stood  well  in  the  confidence  of  his  superior  officers, 
and  was  employed  by  them  at  times  in  furtherance  of  important  movements. 
To  our  wounded  on  more  than  one  occasion  he  showed  considerate  kindness. 
Officers  and  civilians  captured  by  forces  under  his  immediate  command  were,  so 
long  as  remaining  under  his  orders,  treated  with  civility.  These  things  are 
well  known  to  those  personally  familiar  with  the  irregular  fighting  in  Virginia. 


NOTE  *,page  229. 

Among  those  summoned  during  the  spring  just  passed  to  appear  before  the 
Reconstruction  Committee  of  Congress  was  Robert  E.  Lee.  His  testimony  is 
deeply  interesting,  both  in  itself  and  as  coming  from  him.  After  various  ques 
tions  had  been  put  and  briefly  answered,  these  words  were  addressed  to  him: 

*'  If  there  be  any  other  matter  about  which  you  wish  to  speak  on  this  occa 
sion,  do  so  freely."  Waiving  this  invitation,  he  responded  by  a  short  personal 
explanation  of  some  point  in  a  previous  answer,  and,  after  a  few  more  brief 
questions  and  replies,  the  interview  closed. 

In  the  verse  a.  poetical  liberty  has  been  ventured.  Lee  is  not  only  repre 
sented  as  responding  to  the  invitation,  but  also  as  at  last  renouncing  his  cold 
reserve,  doubtless  the  cloak  to  feelings  more  or  less  poignant.  If  for  such  free 
dom  warrant  be  necessary,  the  speeches  in  ancient  histories,  not  to  speak-  of 
those  in  Shakspeare's  historic  plays,  may  not  unfitly  perhaps  be  cited. 

The  character  of  the  original  measures  proposed  about  this  time  in  the  Na 
tional  Legislature  for  the  treatment  of  the  (as  yet)  Congressionally  excluded 
South,  and  the  spirit  in  which  those  measures  were  advocated— these  are  cir 
cumstances  which  it  is  fairly  supposable  would  have  deeply  influenced  the 
thoughts,  whether  spoken  or  withheld,  of  a  Southerner  placed  in  the  position  of 
Lee  before  the  Reconstruction  Committee. 


•S1  UP  P  L  E M EN  T. 


WERE  I  fastidiously  anxious  for  the  symmetry  of  this 
book,  it  would  close  with  the  notes.  But  the  times  are 
such  that  patriotism — not  free  from  solicitude — urges  a 
claim  overriding  all  literary  scruples. 

It  is  more  than  a  year  since  the  memorable  surren 
der,  but  events  have  not  yet  rounded  themselves  into 
completion.  Not  justly  can  we  complain  of  this.  There 
has  been  an  upheaval  affecting  the  basis  of  things ;  to 
altered  circumstances  complicated  adaptations  are  to  be 
made ;  there  are  difficulties  great  and  novel.  But  is 

V 

Reason  still  waiting  for  Passion  to  spend  itself?  We 
have  sung  of  the  soldiers  and  sailors,  but  who  shall 
hymn  the  politicians  ? 

In  view  of  the  infinite  desirableness  of  Re-establish 
ment,  and  considering  that,  so  far  as  feeling  is  con 
cerned,  it  depends  not  mainly  on  the  temper  in  which 
the  South  regards  the  North,  but  rather  conversely ;  one 
who  never  was  a  blind  adherent  feels  constrained  to  sub 
mit  some  thoughts,  counting  on  the  indulgence  of  his 
countrymen. 

And,  first,  it  may  be  said  that,  if  among  the  feelings 
and  opinions  growing  immediately  out  of  a  great  civil 


260  Supplement. 

convulsion,  there  are  any  which  time  shall  modify  or 
do  away,  they  are  presumably  those  of  a  less  temperate 
and  charitable  cast. 

There  seems  no  reason  why  patriotism  and  narrow 
ness  should  go  together,  or  why  intellectual  impartiality 
should  be  confounded  with  political  trimming,  or  why 
serviceable  truth  should  keep  cloistered  because  not  par 
tisan.  Yet  the  work  of  Reconstruction,  if  admitted  to 
be  feasible  at  all,  demands  little  but  common  sense  and 
Christian  charity.  Little  but  these  ?  These  are  much. 

Some  of  us  are  concerned  because  as  yet  the  South 
shows  no  penitence.  But  what  exactly  do  we  mean 
by  this  ?  Since  down  to  the  close  of  the  war  she  nev 
er  confessed  any  for  braving  it,  the  only  penitence  now 
left  her  is  that  which  springs  solely  from  the  sense 
of  discomfiture  ;  and  since  this  evidently  would  be  a 
contrition  hypocritical,  it  would  be  unworthy  in  us  to 
demand  it.  Certain  it  is  that  penitence,  in  the  sense 
of  voluntary  humiliation,  will  never  be  displayed.  Nor 
does  this  afford  just  ground  for  unreserved  condemna 
tion.  It  is  enough,  for  all  practical  purposes,  if  the 
South  have  been  taught  by  the  terrors  of  civil  war  to 
feel  that  Secession,  like  Slavery,  is  against  Destiny ;  that 
both  now  lie  buried  in  one  grave ;  that  her  fate  is  linked 
with  ours ;  and  that  together  we  comprise  the  Nation. 

The  clouds  of  heroes  who  battled  for  the  Union  it  is 


Supplement.  261 

needless  to  eulogize  here.  But  how  of  the  soldiers  on 
the  other  side  ?  And  when  of  a  free  community  we 
name  the  soldiers,  we  thereby  name  the  people.  It  was 
in  subserviency  to  the  slave-interest  that  Secession  was 
plotted ;  but  it  was  under  the  plea,  plausibly  urged,  that 
certain  inestimable  rights  guaranteed  by  the  Constitution 
were  directly  menaced,  that  the  people  of  the  South 
were  cajoled  into  revolution.  Through  the  arts  of  the 
conspirators  and  the  perversity  of  fortune,  the  most  sens 
itive  love  of  liberty  was  entrapped  into  the  support  of 
a  war  whose  implied  end  was  the  erecting  in  our  ad 
vanced  century  of  an  Anglo-American  empire  based 
upon  the  systematic  degradation  of  man. 

Spite  this  clinging  reproach,  however,  signal  military 
virtues  and  achievements  have  conferred  upon  the  Con 
federate  arms  historic  fame,  and  upon  certain  of  the 
commanders  a  renown  extending  beyond  the  sea — a  re 
nown  which  we  of  the  North  could  not  suppress,  even 
if  we  would.  In  personal  character,  also,  not  a  few  of 
the  military  leaders  of  the  South  enforce  forbearance ; 
the  memory  of  others  the  North  refrains  from  dispar 
aging  ;  and  some,  with  more  or  less  of  reluctance,  she 
can  respect.  Posterity,  sympathizing  with  our  convic 
tions,  but  removed  from  our  passions,  may  perhaps  go 
farther  here.  If  George"  IV.  could,  out  of  the  graceful 
instinct  of  a  gentleman,  raise  an  honorable  monument  in 


262  Supplement. 

the  great  fane  of  Christendom  over  the  remains  of  the 
enemy  of  his  dynasty,  Charles  Edward,  the  invader  of 
England  and  victor  in  the  rout  at  Preston  Pans — upon 
whose  head  the  king's  ancestor  but  one  reign  removed 
had  set  a  price  —  is  it  probable  that  the  grandchildren 
of  General  Grant  will  pursue  with  rancor,  or  slur  by 
sour  neglect,  the  memory  of  Stonewall  Jackson  ? 

But  the  South  herself  is  not  wanting  in  recent  his 
tories  and  biographies  which  record  the  deeds  of  her 
chieftains — writings  freely  published  at  the  North  by 
loyal  houses,  widely  read  here,  and  with  a  deep  though 
saddened  interest.  By  students  of  the  war  such  works 
are  hailed  as  welcome  accessories,  and  tending  to  the 
completeness  of  the  record. 

Supposing  a  happy  issue  out  of  present  perplexities, 
then,  in  the  generation  next  to  come,  Southerners  there 
will  be  yielding  allegiance  to  the  Union,  feeling  all 
their  interests  bound  up  in  it,  and  yet  cherishing  un- 
rebuked  that  kind  of  feeling  for  the  memory  of  the  sol 
diers  of  the  fallen  Confederacy  that  Burns,  Scott,  and 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd  felt  for  the  memory  of  the  gallant 
clansmen  ruined  through  their  fidelity  to  the  Stuarts — 
a  feeling  whose  passion  was  tempered  by  the  poetry 
imbuing  it,  and  which  in  no  wise  affected  their  loyalty 
to  the  Georges,  and  which,  it  may -be  added,  indirectly 
contributed  excellent  things  to  literature.  But,  setting 


Supplement.  263 

this  view  aside,  dishonorable  would  it  be  in  the  South 
were  she  willing  to  abandon  to  shame  the  memory  of 
brave  men  who  with  signal  personal  disinterestedness 
warred  in  her  behalf,  though  from  motives,  as  we  be 
lieve,  so  deplorably  astray. 

Patriotism  is  not  baseness,  neither  is  it  inhumanity. 
The  mourners  who  this  summer  bear  flowers  to  the 
mounds  of  the  Virginian  and  Georgian  dead  are,  in 
their  domestic  bereavement  and  proud  affection,  as  sa 
cred  in  the  eye  of  Heaven  as  are  those  who  go  with 
similar  offerings  of  tender  grief  and  love  into  the  cem 
eteries  of  our  Northern  martyrs.  And  yet,  in  one  as 
pect,  how  needless  to  point  the  contrast. 

Cherishing  such  sentiments,  it  will  hardly  occasion 
surprise  that,  in  looking  over  the  battle-pieces  in  the 
foregoing  collection,  I  have  been  tempted  to  withdraw  or 
modify  some  of  them,  fearful  lest  in  presenting,  though 
but  dramatically  and  by  way  of  a  poetic  record,  the  pas 
sions  and  epithets  of  civil  war,  I  might  be  contributing 
to  a  bitterness  which  every  sensible  American  must 
wish  at  an  end.  So,  too,  with  the  emotion  of  victory  as 
reproduced  on  some  pages,  and  particularly  toward  the 
close.  It  should  not  be  construed  into  an  exultation 
misapplied — an  exultation  as  ungenerous  as  unwise,  and 
made  to  minister,  however  indirectly,  to  that  kind  of 
censoriousness  too  apt  to  be  produced  in  certain  natures 


264  Supplement. 

by  success  after  trying  reverses.  Zeal  is  not  of  neces 
sity  religion,  neither  is  it  always  of  the  same  essence 
with  poetry  or  patriotism. 

There  were  excesses  which  marked  the  conflict,  most 
of  which  are  perhaps  inseparable  from  a  civil  strife  so 
intense  and  prolonged,  and  involving  warfare  in  some 
border  countries  new  and  imperfectly  civilized.  Barbari 
ties  also  there  were,  for  which  the  Southern  people  col 
lectively  can  hardly  be  held  responsible,  though  perpe 
trated  by  ruffians  in  their  name.  But  surely  other  qual 
ities —  exalted  ones  —  courage  and  fortitude  matchless, 
were  likewise  displayed,  and  largely ;  and  justly  may  these 
be  held  the  characteristic  traits,  and  not  the  former. 

In  this  view,  what  Northern  writer,  however  patriotic, 
but  must  revolt  from  acting  on  paper  a  part  any  way 
akin  to  that  of  the  live  dog  to  the  dead  lion ;  and  yet  it 
is  right  to  rejoice  for  our  triumph,  so  far  as  it  may  justly 
imply  an  advance  for  our  whole  country  and  for  hu 
manity. 

Let  it  be  held  no  reproach  to  any  one  that  he  pleads 
for  reasonable  consideration  for  our  late  enemies,  now 
stricken  down  and  unavoidably  debarred,  for  the  time, 
from  speaking  -through  authorized  agencies  for  them 
selves.  Nothing  has  been  urged  here  in  the  foolish 
hope  of  conciliating  those  men  —  few  in  number,  we 
trust — who  have  resolved  never  to  be  reconciled  to  the 


Supplement.  265 

Union.  On  such  hearts  every  thing  is  thrown  away 
except  it  be  religious  commiseration,  and  the  sincerest. 
Yet  let  them  call  to  mind  that  unhappy  Secessionist,  not 
a  military  man,  who  with  impious  alacrity  fired  the  first 
shot  of  the  Civil  War  at  Sumter,  and  a  little  more  than 
four  years  afterward  fired  the  last  one  into  his  own  heart 
at  Richmond. 

Noble  was  the  gesture  into  which  patriotic  passion 
surprised  the  people  in  a  utilitarian  time  and  country; 
yet  the  glory  of  the  war  falls  short  of  its  pathos  —  a 
pathos  which  now  at  last  ought  to  disarm  all  animosity. 

How  many  and  earnest  thoughts  still  rise,  and  how 
hard  to  repress  them.  We  feel  what  past  years  have 
been,  and  years,  unretarded  years,  shall  come.  May  we 
all  have  moderation ;  may  we  all  show  candor.  Though, 
perhaps,  nothing  could  ultimately  have  averted  the  strife, 
and  though  to  treat  of  human  actions  is  to  deal  wholly 
with  second  causes,  nevertheless,  let  us  not  cover  up  or 
try  to  extenuate  what,  humanly  speaking,  is  the  truth — 
namely,  that  those  unfraternal  denunciations,  continued 
through  years,  and  which  at  last  inflamed  to  deeds  that 
ended  in  bloodshed,  were  reciprocal ;  and  that,  had  the 
preponderating  strength  and  the  prospect  of  its  unlim 
ited  increase  lain  on  the  other  side,  on  ours  might  have 
lain  those  actions  which  now  in  our  late  opponents  we 
stigmatize  under  the  name  of  Rebellion.  As  frankly 

M 


266  Supplement. 

let  us  own  —  what  it  would  be  unbecoming  to  parade 
were  foreigners  concerned  —  that  our  triumph  was  won 
not  more  by  skill  and  bravery  than  by  superior  re 
sources  and  crushing  numbers;  that  it  was  a  triumph, 
too,  over  a  people  for  years  politically  misled  by  de 
signing  men,  and  also  by  some  honestly-erring  men,  who 
from  their  position  could  not  have  been  otherwise  than 
broadly  influential ;  a  people  who,  though,  indeed,  they 
sought  to  perpetuate  the  curse  of  slavery,  and  even  ex 
tend  it,  were  not  the  authors  of  it,  but  (less  fortunate, 
not  less  righteous  than  we)  were  the  fated  inheritors; 
a  people  who,  having  a  like  origin  with  ourselves,  share 
essentially  in  whatever  worthy  qualities  we  may  possess. 
No  one  can  add  to  the  lasting  reproach  which  hopeless 
defeat  has  now  cast  upon  Secession  by  withholding  the 
recognition  of  these  verities. 

Surely  we  ought  to  take  it  to  heart  that  that  kind  of 
pacification,  based  upon  principles  operating  equally  all 
over  the  land,  which  lovers  of  their  country  yearn  for, 
and  which  our  arms,  though  signally  triumphant,  did 
not  bring  about,  and  which  law-making,  however  anxious, 
or  energetic,  or  repressive,  never  by  itself  can  achieve, 
may  yet  be  largely  aided  by  generosity  of  sentiment 
public  and  private.  Some  revisionary  legislation  and 
adaptive  is  indispensable;  but  with  this  should  harmo 
niously  work  another  kind  of  prudence,  not  unallied 


Supplement.  267 

with  entire  magnanimity.  Benevolence  and  policy  — 
Christianity  and  Machiavelli  —  dissuade  from  penal  se 
verities  toward  the  subdued.  Abstinence  here  is  as  ob 
ligatory  as  considerate  care  for  our  unfortunate  fellow- 
men  late  in  bonds,  and,  if  observed,  would  equally  prove 
to  be  wise  forecast.  The  great  qualities  of  the  South, 
those  attested  in  the  War,  we  can  perilously  alienate,  or 
we  may  make  them  nationally  available  at  need. 

The  blacks,  in  their  infant  pupilage  to  freedom,  appeal 
to  the  sympathies  of  every  humane  mind.  The  paternal 
guardianship  which  for  the  interval  government  exercises 
over  them  was  prompted  equally  by  duty  and  benevo 
lence.  Yet  such  kindliness  should  not  be  allowed  to 
exclude  kindliness  to  communities  who  stand  nearer  to 
us  in  nature.  For  the  future  of  the  freed  slaves  we 
may  well  be  concerned ;  but  the  future  of  the  whole 
country,  involving  the  future  of  the  blacks,  urges  a  par 
amount  claim  upon  our  anxiety.  Effective  benignity, 
like  the  Nile,  is  not  narrow  in  its  bounty,  and  true 
policy  is  always  broad.  To  be  sure,  it  is  vain  to 
seek  to  glide,  with  moulded  words,  over  the  difficul 
ties  of  the  situation.  And  for  them  who  are  neither 
partisans,  nor  enthusiasts,  nor  theorists,  nor  cynics,  there 
are  some  doubts  not  readily  to  be  solved.  And  there 
are  fears.  Why  is  not  the  cessation  of  war  now 
at  length  attended  with  the  settled  calm  of  peace  ? 


268  Supplement. 

Wherefore  in  a  clear  sky  do  we  still  turn  our  eyes  to 
ward  the  South,  as  the  Neapolitan,  months  after  the 
eruption,  turns  his  toward  Vesuvius?  Do  we  dread  lest 
the  repose  may  be  deceptive  ?  In  the  recent  convul 
sion  has  the  crater  but  shifted  ?  Let  us  revere  that  sa 
cred  uncertainty  which  forever  impends  over  men  and 
nations.  Those  of  us  who  always  abhorred  slavery  as 
an  atheistical  iniquity,  gladly  we  join  in  the  exulting 
chorus  of  humanity  over  its  downfall.  But  we  should 
remember  that  emancipation  was  accomplished  not  by 
deliberate  legislation ;  only  through  agonized  violence 
could  so  mighty  a  result  be  effected.  In  our  natural 
solicitude  to  confirm  the  benefit  of  liberty  to  the  blacks, 
let  us  forbear  from  measures  of  dubious  constitutional 
rightfulness  toward  our  white  countrymen  —  measures 
of  a  nature  to  provoke,  among  other  of  the  last  evils, 
exterminating  hatred  of  race  toward  race.  In  imagina 
tion  let  us  place  ourselves  in  the  unprecedented  posi 
tion  of  the  Southerners  —  their  position  as  regards  the 
millions  of  ignorant  manumitted  slaves  in  their  midst, 
for  whom  some  of  us  now  claim  the  suffrage.  Let  us 
be  Christians  toward  our  fellow-whites,  as  well  as  phi 
lanthropists  toward  the  blacks,  our  fellow-men.  In  all 
things,  and  toward  all,  we  are  enjoined  to  do  as  we 
would  be  done  by.  Nor  should  we  forget  that  benevo 
lent  desires,  after  passing  a  certain  point,  can  not  un- 


Supplement.  269 

dertake  their  own  fulfillment  without  incurring  the  risk 
of  evils  beyond  those  sought  to  be  remedied.  Some 
thing  may  well  be  left  to  the  graduated  care  of  future 
legislation,  and  to  heaven.  In  one  point  of  view  the  co 
existence  of  the  two  races  in  the  South  —  whether  the 
negro  be  bond  or  free — seems  (even  as  it  did  to  Abra 
ham  Lincoln)  a  grave  evil.  Emancipation  has  ridded 
the  country  of  the  reproach,  but  not  wholly  of  the  ca 
lamity.  Especially  in  the  present  transition  period  for 
both  races  in  the  South,  more  or  less  of  trouble  may 
not  unreasonably  be  anticipated ;  but  let  us  not  here 
after  be  too  swift  to  charge  the  blame  exclusively  in 
any  one  quarter.  With  certain  evils  men  must  be  more 
or  less  patient.  Our  institutions  have  a  potent  diges 
tion,  and  may  in  time  convert  and  assimilate  to  good 
all  elements  thrown  in,  however  originally  alien. 

But,  so  far  as  immediate  measures  looking  toward  per 
manent  Re-establishment  are  concerned,  no  considera 
tion  should  tempt  us  to  pervert  the  national  victory  into 
oppression  for  the  vanquished.  Should  plausible  prom 
ise  of  eventual  good,  or  a  deceptive  or  spurious  sense 
of  duty,  lead  us  to  essay  this,  count  we  must  on  serious 
consequences,  not  the  least  of  which  would  be  divisions 
among  the  Northern  adherents  of  the  Union.  Assured 
ly,  if  any  honest  Catos  there  be  who  thus  far  have  gone 
with  us,  no  longer  will  they  do  so,  but  oppose  us,  and 


2  70  Supplement. 

as  resolutely  as  hitherto  they  have  supported.  But  this 
path  of  thought  leads  toward  those  waters  of  bitterness 
from  which  one  can  only  turn  aside  and  be  silent. 

But  supposing  Re-establishment  so  far  advanced  that 
the  Southern  seats  in  Congress  are  occupied,  and  by 
men  qualified  in  accordance  with  those  cardinal  princi 
ples  of  representative  government  which  hitherto  have 
prevailed  in  the  land — what  then?  Why,  the  Congress 
men  elected  by  the  people  of  the  South  will — represent 
the  people  of  the  South.  This  may  seem  a  flat  con 
clusion  ;  but,  in  view  of  the  last  five  years,  may  there 
not  be  latent  significance  in  it  ?  What  will  be  the  tem 
per  of  those  Southern  members  ?  and,  confronted  by 
them,  what  will  be  the  mood  of  our  own  representa 
tives  ?  In  private  life  true  reconciliation  seldom  follows 
a  violent  quarrel ;  but,  if  subsequent  intercourse  be  un 
avoidable,  nice  observances  and  mutual  are  indispensa 
ble  to  the  prevention  of  a  new  rupture.  Amity  itself 
can  only  be  maintained  by _ reciprocal  respect,  and  true 
friends  are  punctilious  equals.  On  the  floor  of  Con 
gress  North  and  South  are  to  come  together  after  a 
passionate  duel,  in  which  the  South,  though  proving  her 
valor,  has  been  made  to  bite  the  dust.  Upon  differ 
ences  in  debate  shall  acrimonious  recriminations  be  ex 
changed  ?  shall  censorious  superiority  assumed  by  one 
section  provoke  defiant  self-assertion  on  the  other  ?  shall 


Supplement.  2  7 1 

Manassas  and  Chickamauga  be  retorted  for  Chattanooga 
and  Richmond?  Under  the  supposition  that  the  full 
Congress  will  be  composed  of  gentlemen,  all  this  is  im 
possible.  Yet,  if  otherwise,  it  needs  no  prophet  of  Is 
rael  to  foretell  the  end.  The  maintenance  of  Congres 
sional  decency  in  the  future  will  rest  mainly  with  the 
North.  Rightly  will  more  forbearance  be  required  from 
the  North  than  the  South,  for  the  North  is  victor. 

But  some  there  are  who  may  deem  these  latter  thoughts 
inapplicable,  and  for  this  reason  :  Since  the  test-oath 
operatively  excludes  from  Congress  all  who.  in  any  way 
participated  in  Secession,  therefore  none  but  Southern 
ers  wholly  in  harmony  with  the  North  are  eligible  to 
seats.  This  is  true  for  the  time  being.  But  the  oath 
is  alterable  ;  and  in  the  wonted  fluctuations  of  parties 
not  improbably  it  will  undergo  alteration,  assuming  such 
a  form,  perhaps,  as  not  to  bar  the  admission  into  the 
National  Legislature  of  men  who  represent  the  pop 
ulations  lately  in  revolt.  Such  a  result  would  involve 
no  violation  of  the  principles  of  democratic  government. 
Not  readily  can  one  perceive  how  the  political  existence 
of  the  millions  of  late  Secessionists  can  permanently  be 
ignored  by  this  Republic.  The  years  of  the  war  tried 
our  devotion  to  the  Union ;  the  time  of  peace  may  test 
the  sincerity  of  our  faith  in  democracy. 

In   no  spirit  of  opposition,  not  by  way  of  challenge, 


272  Supplement. 

is  any  thing  here  thrown  out.  These  thoughts  are  sin 
cere  ones  ;  they  seem  natural — inevitable.  Here  and 
there  they  must  have  suggested  themselves  to  many 
thoughtful  patriots.  And,  if  they  be  just  thoughts,  ere 
long  they  must  have  that  weight  with  the  public  which 
already  they  have  had  with  individuals. 

For  that  heroic  band — those  children  of  the  furnace 
who,  in  regions  like  Texas  and  Tennessee,  maintained 
their  fidelity  through  terrible  trials  —  we  of  the  North 
felt  for  them,  and  profoundly  we  honor  them.  Yet  pas 
sionate  sympathy,  with  resentments  so  close  as  to  be 
almost  domestic  in  their  bitterness,  would  hardly  in  the 
present  juncture  tend  to  discreet  legislation.  Were  the 
Unionists  and  Secessionists  but  as  Guelphs  and  Ghibel- 
lines  ?  If  not,  then  far  be  it  from  a  great  nation  now  to 
act  in  the  spirit  that  animated  a  triumphant  town-faction 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  But  crowding  thoughts  must  at  last 
be  checked ;  and,  in  times  like  the  present,  one  who  de 
sires  to  be  impartially  just  in  the  expression  of  his  views, 
moves  as  among  sword-points  presented  on  every  side. 

Let  us  pray  that  the  terrible  historic  tragedy  of  our 
time  may  not  have  been  enacted  without  instructing  our 
whole  beloved  country  through  terror  and  pity ;  and  may 
fulfillment  verify  in  the  end  those  expectations  which 
kindle  the  bards  of  Progress  and  Humanity. 

THE    END. 


tfo 


